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U.&OEPARTIIEMT OF LABOR. 



STRAY LEAVES 



FROM 



STRANGE LITERATURE 



STORIES 

RECONSTRUCTED FROM THE ANVARI-SOHE^LI, BAITAL 

PACHISI, MAHABHARATA, PANTCHATANTRA, 

GULISTAN, TALMUD. KALEWALA, ETC. 



BY 



LAFCADIO HEARN 




BOSTON 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 

1884 






Copyright, 1884, 
By James R. Osgood and Company. 

Al/ rights reserved. 



D.G.PoLb.L. 



©nibersftg ^rcss : 

JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 



^ 



^r^ 



STo ing jFn'entJ, 
PAGE M. BAKER, 

EDITOR OF THE 
NEW ORLEANS TIMES-DEMOCRAT. 







While engaged upon this little mosaic work of 
legend and fable, T felt much like one of those 
merchants told of in Sindbad's Second Voyage, 
who were obliged to content themselves with 
gathering the small jewels adhering to certain 
meat wliich eagles • bronght up from the Valley 
of Diamonds. I have had to depend altogether 
upon the labor of translators for my acquisitions ; 
and these seemed too small to deserve separate 
literary setting. By cutting my little gems ac- 
cording to one pattern, I have doubtless reduced 
the beauty of some ; yet it seemed to me their 
colors were so weird, their luminosity so elfish, 
that their intrinsic value could not be wholly de- 
stroyed even by so clumsy an artificer as I. 

In short, these fables, legends, parables, etc., 
are simply reconstructions of what impressed me 



8 Explanatory. 

as most fantastical^ beautiful in the most exotic 
literature which I was able to obtain. With few 
exceptions, the plans of the original narratives 
have been preserved. Sometimes I have added 
a little, sometimes curtailed ; but the augmenta- 
tions were generall}' made with material drawn 
from the same source as the legend, while the 
abbreviations were effected either with a view 
to avoid repetition, or through the necessity of 
suppressing incidents unsuited to the general 
reading. I must call special attention to cer- 
tain romantic liberties or poetic licenses which 
I have taken. 

In the Polynesian story (" The Fountain Maid- 
en") I have considerably enlarged upon the 
legend, which I found in Gill's "Myths and 
Songs of the South Pacific," — a curious but 
inartistic book, in which much admirable mate- 
rial has been very dryl}' handled. In another 
portion of Mr. Gill's book I found the text and 
translation of the weird "Thieves' Song;" and 
conceived the idea of utilizing it in the stor}-, 
with some fanciful changes. The Arabic "Le- 
gend of Love " is still more apocryphal, as it 
consists of fragmentar}' Arabian stories, borrowed 
from De Stendahl's " L'Amour," and welded into 
one narrative. 



Explanatory, 9 

In the Rabbinical legends I have often united 
several incidents related about one personage in 
various of the Talmudic treatises ; but this sys- 
tem is sufficiently specified by references to the 
"Gemara" in the text. By consulting the indices 
attached to Hershon's Miscellany, and Schwab's 
translations of the Jerusalem Talmud, it was easy 
to collect a number of singular traditions attach- 
ing to one distinguished Rabbi, and to unite 
these into a narrative. Finallj^, I must confess 
that the story of ''Natalika" was not drawn 
directly from Ferista, or Fihristah, but from 
JacoUiot, a clever writer, but untrustworthy Ori- 
entalist, w^iose books have little serious value. 
Whether true or false, however, the legend of 
the statue seemed to me too pretty to overlook. 

In one case only have I made a veritable trans- 
lation from the French. Leonzon Le Due's literal 
version of the " Kalewala " seemed to me the 
most charming specimen of poetical prose I had 
met with among translations. I selected three 
incidents, and translated them almost word for 
word. 

Nearly all of the Italic texts, although fon- 
cifully arranged, have been drawn from the 
literatures of tiiose peoples whose legends they 
introduce. Many phrases were obtained from 



10 Explanatory, 

that inexhaustible treasury of Indian wisdom, the 
"• Pantchatautra ; " otliers from various Buddhist 
works. The introductor}' text of the piece, enti- 
tled "The King's Justice," was borrowed from 
the Persian "Mantle ITttair," of Farid Uddia 
Attar ; and the text at the commencement of the 
Buddhist Parable (which was refashioned after 
a narrative in Stanislas Julien's "Avadanas") 
was taken from the " Dhammapada." The briefer 
stories, I think, have generall}' suffered less at 
my hands than the lengthier ones. That won- 
derful Egyptian romance about the Book of 
Thoth is far more strilving in Maspero's French 
translations from the original papyrus ; but the 
Egyptian phrases are often characterized by a 
nakedness ratlier more startling than that of the 
dancing girls in the mural paintings. . . . 

Upon another i)age will be found a little 
bibliography of nearly all the sources M'hence I 
have drawn my material. Some volumes are 
mentioned only because they gave me one or 
two phrases. Thus, I borrowed expressions or 
ideas from "Amarou," from Fauche's translation 
of the " Ritou Sanhara," and especially from the 
wealth of notes to Chez3''s superb translation of 
" Sacountala." 

This little collection has no claim upon the 



Explanatory. 11 

consideration of scholars. It is simply an at- 
tempt to share with the public some of those 
novel delights I experienced while trying to 
familiarize myself with some very strange and 
beautiful literatures. 

During its preparation two notable works have 
appeared with a partly similar pui'pose : Helen 
Zimmern's " Epic of Kings," and Edwin Arnold's 
*' Rosary of Islam." In the former we have a 
charmmg popular version of Firdusi, and upon 
the latter are exquisitely strung some of the fair- 
est pearls of the '' Mesnewi." I hope my far less 
artistic contribution to the popularization of un- 
familiar literature ma}' stimulate others to pro- 
duce something worthier than I can hope to do. 
My gems were few and small : the monstrous and 
splendid await the coming of Sindbad, or some 
mighty lapidary by whom they ma}' be wrought 
into jewel bouquets exquisite as those bunches of 
topaz blossoms and ruby buds laid upon the tomb 
of Nourmahal. 

New Orleans, 1884. 




BIBLIOGRAPHY. 



{I'hcre are very fine English translations of the works marked with an 
asterisk. ) 

Allegopjes, R6CITS, CoNTES, etc., traduits de VArabe, du 

Persan, de I'Hindustani, et du Turc. Par M. Garcin de 

Tassy. Paris, 1876. (Includes "Bakawali,") 
Amarou. Anthologie Erotique. Texte Sanscrit, traduction, 

notes, etc., par A. L. Apudy (Chezy). Paris, 18.31. 
AVADAXAS (les). Coutes et Apologues Indiens. Traduits 

par M. Stanislas Julien. Paris, 1859. 
Buddha (PiOM antic Legend of). Translated by Ptev. 

Samuel Beal. London, 1875. 
CoNTES fioYPTiENS. Par G. Maspero. Paris, 1882. 
-Dhammapada (The). Translated from the Chinese by Rev. 

Samuel Beal, B.A. Boston, 1878. 
*Gita-Govinda (Le), et le Ritou-Sanhara. Traduits 

par Hippolyte Fauche. Paris, 1850. 
*Gulistan (le), de Sadi. Traduit litteralement, par N. 

Semelet. Paris, 1834. 
Hindoo Pantheon (The). 

don, 1861, 



By Major Edward Moor. Lon- 



14 Bibliography, 

*HiTOPADii;sA (L'). Tradait par E. Lancereau. Paris, 

1882. 
Jacolliot. Voyage aux Ruincs de Gohonde. Paris, 1 878. 
Jataka-Tales. Translated by T. W. Rhuys Davids. Vol. I. 

Boston, 1881. 
Kalewala. Traduction de Leouzou Le Due. Paris, 1845. 
Mahabharata (Onze Episodes du). Traduit par Foucaux. 

Paris, 1862. 
*AIantic Uttair. Traduit du Persan par M. Garcin de 

Tassy. Paris, 1863. 
Mythologie des Esquimaux. Par I'Abbe Morillot. Paris, 

1874. 
Myths and Songs of the South Pacific. By Rev. W. W. 

Gill. London, 1877. 
*Pantchatantra ; ou, Les Cinq Livkes, Traduit par 

E. Lancereau. Paris, 1871. 
Stendaiil (De). L' Amour. 
*Sacountala. Texte Sanscrit, notes et traduction par 

Chezy. Paris. 1830. 
Talmud. Le Talmud dc Jerusalem. Traduit par Moise 

Schwab. Vols. I.-VI. Paris, 1878-83. 
Talmudic Miscellany (A). By Rev. L. P. Herslion. 

Boston, 1882. 
■Vetalapanchavinsati'( Hindi Version of the). Baitdl 

Pachisi; or. The Tivcnty-five Tales of a Demon. Trans- 
lated by W. B. Barker. London, 1855. 




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CONTENTS. 



STRAY LEAVES. 

PAOE 

The Book of Tlioth. From, an Etiyptian Pcq^yrus . . 19 
The Fountain j\Iaiden. A Legend of the S(yuih Pacifc . 33 
The Bird Wife. An Esquimaux Tradition .... 41 



TALES RETOLD FROM INDIAN AND BUDDHIST 
LITERATURE. 

The Making of Tilottania 49 

The Brulnnan and liis Brahmani 61 

BakaAvali 68 

Katalika 78 

The Corpse-Demon , 85 

The Lion 99 

The Legend of tlio Monster Misfortune 102 

A Parable Buddhistic 108 

Pundari , .... 113 

Yamaraja , 119 

The Lotos of Faith 131 



16 Contents, 

RUNES FROM THE KALEWALA. 

PAGE 

The Magical Words 137 

The First Musician 150 

The Healing of Wainamoinen 157 

STORIES OF MOSLEM LANDS. 

Boutimar, the Dove 163 

The Son of a Eobber 175 

A Legend of Love 181 

The King's Justice 186 

TRADITIONS RETOLD FROM THE TALMUD. 

A Legend of Rabba 191 

The Mockers 198 

Esther's Choice 203 

The Dispute in the Halacha 210 

Eabbi Yochanan ben Zachai 216 

A Tradition of Titus 220 




STRAY LEAVES. 



THE BOOK OF THOTH. 



All Egyptian tale of ivdrdncss, as told in a demotic impy- 
rus found in the necropolis of Deir-el-Medineh among tlie 
ruins of hundred-gated Thebes. . . . Written in the thirty- 
ffth year of the reign of some forgotten Ptolomceus, and in the 
month of Tyhi com2)letcd by a scribe famous among magi- 
Clans. . . . Dedicated, doubtless, to Thoth, Lord of all Scribes, 
GroAid Master of all Sorcerers; ichose grace had been rever- 
ently invoiced upon whomsoever might speak vjell concerning 
the same papyrus. , . . 

. . . TnoTH, the divine, lord of scribes, most 
excellent of workers, prince of wizards, once, it 
is said, wrote witli liis own hand a book sur- 
passing all other books, and containing two magi- 
cal formulas only. Whosoever could recite the 
first of these formulas would become forthwith 
second only to the gods, —for by its simple utter- 
ance the mountains and the valleys, the ocean 



20 The Book of Thoth 

and the clouds, the heights of heaven and the 
deeps of hell, would be made subject nnto his 
will ; while the birds of air, the reptiles of dark- 
ness, and the fishes of the waters, would be 
thereby compelled to appear, and to make mani- 
fest the thoughts secreted within tlieir hearts. 
But whosoever could recite the second formula 
might never know death, — for even though 
buried within the entrails of the earth, he would 
still behold heaven through the darkness and 
hear the voices of earth athwart the silence ; 
even in the necropolis he would still see the 
rising and setting of the sun, and the C3-cle 
of the Gods, and the waxing and waning of 
the moon, and the eternal lights of the firma- 
ment. 

And the god Thoth deposited his book with- 
in a casket of gold, and the casket of gold 
within a casket of silver, and the casket of 
silver within a casket of ivory and ebon}^, 
and the casket of ivory and ebony within a 
casket of palm- wood, and the casket of palm- 
wood within a casket of bronze, and the 
casket of bronze within a casket of iron. 
And he buried the same in the bed of the 
great river of Egypt where it flows through 
the Nome of Coptos ; and immortal river mon- 



The Booh of Thoth. 21 

sters coiled about the casket to guard it from 
all magicians. 

* * 

Now, of all magicians, Noferkeplitah, the son 
of King Minibphtah (to whom be life, health, 
and strength forevermore !), first by cunning dis- 
covered the place where the wondrous book was 
hidden, and found courage to possess himself 
thereof. For after he had well paid the wisest 
of the ancient priests to direct his way, Nofer- 
keplitah obtained from his father Pharaoh a royal 
cangia, well supplied and stoutly manned, wherein 
he journeyed to Coptos in search of the hidden 
treasure. Coming to Coptos after many days, 
he created him a magical boat and a magical 
crew l\v reciting mystic words ; and he and the 
shadow}' crew with him toiled to find the casket ; 
and by the building of dams they were enabled 
to find it. Then Noferkeplitah prevailed also 
against the immortal serpent b}- dint of sorcer}' ; 
and he obtained the book, and read the mystic 
formulas, and made himself second only to the 
gods. 

But the divinities, being wroth with him, caused 
his sister and wife Ahouri to fall into the Nile, 
and his son also. Noferkephtah indeed com- 
pelled the river to restore them ; but although 



22 The Book of Thoth. 

the power of the book maintained their life after 
a strange fashion, they lived not as before, so 
that he had to bury them in the necropolis at 
Coptos. Seeing these things and fearing to return 
to the king alone, he tied the book above his 
heart, and also allowed himself to drown. The 
power of the book, indeed, maintained his life 
after a strange fashion ; but he lived not as be- 
fore, so that they took him back to Thebes as one 
who had passed over to Amenthi, and there laid 
him with his farthers, and the book also. 

Yet, by tlie power of the book, he lived within 
the darkness of the tomb, and beheld the sun 
rising, and the C^-cle of the Gods, and the phases 
of the moon, and the stars of the night. By the 
power of the book, also, he summoned to him 
the shadow of his sister Ahouri, buried at Cop- 
tos, — whom he had made his wife according to 
the custom of the Egyptians ; and there was light 
within their dwelling-place. Thus Noferkephtah 
knew ghostly happiness in the company of the 
JTa, or shadow, of his wife Ahouri, and the jKa 
of his son Mikhonsou. 

Now, four generations had passed since the time 
of King Minibphtah ; and the Pharaoh of Egypt 
was Ousirmari. Ousirmari had two sons who 



The Booh of Thoth, 23 

were learned among the Egyptians, — Satni was 
the name of the elder ; Anhathoreroou that of the 
younger. There was not in all Eg3-pt so wise a 
scribe as Satni. He knew how to read the sacred 
writings, and the inscriptions upon the amulets, 
and the sentences within the tombs, and the words 
graven upon the stelae, and the books of that 
sacerdotal librar\^ called the "Double House of 
Life." Also he knew the composition of all for- 
mulas of sorcery and of all sentences which spir- 
its ol)ey, so that there was no enchanter like him 
in all Egypt. And Satni heard of Noferkeph- 
tah and the book of Thoth from a certain aged 
priest, and resolved that he would obtain it. But 
the aged priest warned him, saying, ^' Beware 
thou dost not wrest the book from Noferkephtah, 
else thou wilt be enchanted b^' him, and compelled 
to bear it back to him within the tomb, and do 
great penance." 

Nevertheless Satni sought and obtained per- 
mission of the king to descend into the necropo- 
lis of Thebes, and to take awa}', if he might, the 
book from thence. So he went thither with his 
brother. 

Three days and three niglits the brothers sought 
for the tomb of Noferkephtah in the immeasurable 



24 The Booh of Thoth. 

city of the dead ; and after they had threaded 
many miles of black corridors, and descended 
into man}^ hundred burial pits, and were weary 
with the decipliering of innumerable inscriptions 
bj' quivering light of lamps, the}" found his rest- 
ing-place at last. Now, when the}" entered the 
tomb their ej-es were dazzled ; for Noferkephtah 
was lymg there with his wife Ahouri beside him ; 
and the book of Thoth, placed between them, 
shed such a hght around, that it seemed hke the 
brightness of the sun. And when Satni entered, 
the Shadow of Ahouri rose against the light ; and 
she asked him, " Who art thou?" 

Then Satni answered: "I am Satni, son of 
King Ousirmari ; and I come for the book of 
Thoth which is between thee and Noferkephtah ; 
and if thou wilt not give it me, I shall wrest it 
awa}^ b}' force." 

But the Shadow of the woman replied to him : 
" Nay, be not unreasoning in thy words ! Do 
not ask for this book. For we, in obtaining it, 
were deprived of the pleasure of living upon earth 
for the term naturally allotted us ; neither is this 
enchanted life within the tomb like unto the life 
of Egypt. Nowise can the book serve thee ; there- 
fore listen rather to the recital of all those sorrows 
which befell us by reason of this book. . . ." 



The Book of Thoth. 25 

But after hearing the stor\' of Ahouri, the 
heart of Satui remained as bronze ; and he only 
repeated : — 

"If thou wilt not give me the book which is 
between thee and Noferkephtah, I shall wrest it 
away b}' force." 

Then Noferkephtah rose up within the tomb, 
and laughed, saying: "O Satni, if thou art in- 
deed a true scribe, win this book from me by thy 
skill ! If thou art not afraid, play against me a 
game for the possession of this book, — a game 
Qi fifty-two!''' Now there was a chess-board 
within the tomb. 

Then Satni pla3-ed a game of chess with Nofer- 
kephtah, while the Kas^ the Shadows, the Dou- 
bles of Ahouri, and tlie large-eyed boy looked on. 
But the eyes with which they gazed upon him, 
and the eyes of Noferkephtah also, strangely dis- 
turbed him, so that Satni's brain whirled, and the 
web of his thought became entangled, and he 
lost ! Noferkephtah laughed, and uttered a mag- 
ical word, and placed the chess-board upon Satni's 
head ; and Satni sank to his knees into the floor 
of the tomb. 

Again they played, and the result was the same. 
Tiien Noferkephtah uttered another magical word, 
and again placed the chess-board upon Satni's 



26 The Booh of Thoth, 

head ; and Satni sank to his hips into the floor 
of the tomb. 

Once more they pla3'ed, and the result was the 
same. Then Noferkephtah uttered a third magi- 
cal word, and laid the chess-board on Satni's 
head, and Satni sank up to his ears into the floor 
of the tomb ! 

Then Satni shrieked to his brother to bring 
him certain talismans quicklj' ; and the brother 
fetched tlie talismans, and placed them upon 
Satni's head, and by magical amulets saved him 
from the power of Noferkephtah. But liaving 
done this, Anhathoreioou fell dead within the 
tomb. 

And Satni put forth his hand and took the book 
from Noferkephtah, and went out of the tomb 
into the corridors ; wliile the book lighted the 
way for him, so that a great brightness travelled 
before him, and deep blackness went after him. 
Into the darkness Ahouri followed him, lament- 
ing, and crying out : " Woe ! woe upon us ! The 
light tliat gave life is taken from us ; the hideous 
Nothingness will come upon us ! Now, indeed, 
will annihilation enter into the tomb ! " But No- 
ferkephtah called Ahouri to him, and bade her 
cease to weep, saying to her: " Grieve not after 
the book ; for I shall make him bring it back to 



The Book of Thoth, 27 

me, with a fork and stick in his hand and a lighted 

brazier upon his head." 

* 

* * 

But when the king Ousirmari heard of all that 
had taken place, he became very much alarmed 
for his son, and said to him : " Behold ! thy folly 
has already caused the death of thy brother An- 
hathoreroou; take heed, therefore, lest it bring 
about thine own destruction likewise. Nofer- 
kephtah dead is even a mightier magician than 
thou. Take back the book forthwith, lesfc he 
destroy thee." 

And Satni replied : " Lo ! never have I owned 
a sensual wish, nor done evil to livhig creature; 
how, then, can the dead prevail against me? It 
is only the foolish scribe — the scribe who hath 
not learned the mastery of passions — that may 
be overcome by enchantment." 

And he kept the book. 

* * 

Xow it came to pass that a few days after, 
while Satni stood upon the parvise of the tem- 
ple of Pthah, he beheld a woman so beautiful 
that from the moment his eyes fell upon her he 
ceased to act like one living, and all the world 
grew like a dream about him. And while the 
young woman was praying in the temple, Satni 



28 The Booh of Thoth 

heard that her name was Thoiitboui, daughter of 
a prophet. AVhereupon he sent a messenger to 
her, saying: "Thus declares ni}^ master: I, the 
Prince Satni, son of King Ousirmari, do so love 
thee that I feel as one about to die. ... If thou 
wilt love me as I desire, thou shalt have kingliest 
gifts ; ^otherwise, know that I have the power to 
bury thee alive among the dead, so that none 
may ever see thee again." 

And Thoutboui on hearing these words appeared 
not at all astonished, nor angered, nor terrified ; 
but her great black eyes laugiied, and she an- 
swered, saying: "Tell thy master, Prince Satni, 
son of King Ousirmari, to visit me within \ny 
house at Bubastes, whither I am even now go- 
hig." . . . Thereupon she went awa}' with her 
retinue of maidens. 

* * 

So Satni hastened forthwith to Bubastes b}' the 
river, and to the house of Thoutboui, the proph- 
et's daughter. In all the place there was no house 
like unto her house ; it was lofty and long, and 
surrounded hy a garden all encircled with a 
white wall. And Satni followed Thoutboui's 
serving-maid into the house, and by a coiling 
stairwa}' to an upper chamber wherein were 
broad beds of ebon^' and ivory, and rich furni- 



The Booh of Thoth, 29 

ture curionsh' carved, and tripods with burning 
perfumes, and tables of cedar with cups of gold. 
And the walls were coated with lapis-lazuli inlaid 
with emerald, making a strange and pleasant light. 
. . . Thoutboui appeared upon the threshold, robed 
in textures of white, transparent as the dresses of 
those dancing w^omen limned upon the walls of 
the Pharaohs' palace ; and as she stood against 
the light, Satni, beholding the litheness of her 
limbs, the flexibility of her bod^', felt his heart 
cease to beat within him, so that he could not 
speak. But she served him with wine, and took 
from his hands the gifts which he had brought, — 
and she suffered him to kiss her. 

Then said Thoutboui : " Not lighth' is mj' love 
to be bought with gifts. Yet will I test thee, since 
thou dost so desire. If thou wilt be loved by me, 
therefore, make over to me by deed all thou hast, 
— thy gold and th}^ silver, thy lands and houses, 
thy goods and all that belongs to thee. So that 
the house wherein I dwell ma}^ become thy 
house ! " 

And Satni, looking into the long black jewels 
of her eyes, forgot the worth of all that he pos- 
sessed ; and a scribe was summoned, and the 
scribe drew up the deed giving to Thoutboui all 
the goods of Satni. 



30 The Book of ThotJu 

Then said Thoutboui : "Still will I test thee, 
since thoa dost so desire. If thou wilt have 
my love, make over to me th}' children, also, as 
my slaves, lest they should seek dispute with my 
children concerning that which was thine. So 
that the house in which I dwell may become thy 
house ! " 

And Satni, gazing upon the witcher}' of her 
bosom, curved like ivory carving, rounded like 
the eggs of the ostrich, forgot his loving cliil- 
di'en ; and the deed was written. . . . Even at 
that moment a messenger came, saying: "O 
Satni, th}' children are below, and await thee." 
And he said : " Bid them ascend hither." 

Then said Thoutboui: " Still will I test thee, 
since thou dost so desire. If thou wilt have my 
love, let th}' children be put to death, lest at some 
future time the}^ seek to claim that which thou 
hast giA'en. So that the house in which I dwell 
ma3- be th}' house ! " 

And Satni, enchanted with the enchantment of 
her pliant stature, of her palmy grace, of her 
ivoriue beauty, forgot even his fatherhood, and 
answered: "Be it so; were I ruler of heaven, 
even heaven would I give thee for a kiss." 

Then Thoutboui had the children of Satni slain 
before his e3'es ; 3'et he sought not to save them ! 



The Book of Tkoth, 31 

She bade her servant cast their bodies from the 
windows to the cats and to the dogs below ; yet 
Satni Ufted not his hand to prevent it! And 
while he drank wine with Thoutboni, he could hear 
the growling of the animals that were eating the 
flesh of his children. But he only moaned to her : 
'' Give me thy love ! I am as one in hell for thy 
sake ! " And she arose, and, entering another 
chamber, turned and held out her wonderful arms 
to him, and drew him to her with the sorcery of 
her unutterable eyes. . . . 

But as Satni sought to clasp her and to kiss 
her, lo ! her ruddy mouth opened and extended 
and broadened and deepened, — yawning wider, 
darker, quickl}', vastly, — a blackness as of 
necropoles, a vastness as of Amenthi ! And 
Satni beheld only a gulf before him, deepening 
and shadowing like night ; and from out the gulf 
a burst of tempest roared up, and bore him with 
it, and whirled him abroad as a leaf. And his 
fienses left him. . . . 

* * 

. . . When he came again to himself, he was 
lying naked at the entrance of the subterranean 
sepulchres ; and a great horror and despair came 
upon him, so that he purposed ending his life. 
But the servants of the king found liim, and bore 



82 The Booh of Thoth. 

liim safely to his father. And Oiisirmari heard the 
ghosth' tale. 

Then said Onsirmari : " O Satni, Xoferkephtah 
dead is a miohtier maoician than even thou living. 
Know, m}' son, first of all that th}^ children are 
alive and well in m\' own care ; know, also, that 
the woman b}' whose beant}' thou wert bewitched, 
and for whom thou hast in thought committed all 
heinous crimes, was a phantom wrought by jS^o- 
ferkephtah's magic. . Thus, b}" exciting thee to 
passion, did he bring ihy magical power to 
nought. And now, my dear son, haste with 
the book to Noferkephtah, lest thoij perish ut- 
terl} , with all thy kindred." 

So Satni took the book of Thoth, and, carr}^- 
ing a fork and stick in his hands and a lighted 
brazier upon his head, carried it to the Thebau 
necropolis and into the tomb of Noferkephtah. 
And Ahouri clapped her hands, and smiled to 
see the light again return. And Noferkephtah 
laughed, sa3ing : "Did I not tell thee before- 
hand?" " A3'e ! " said Ahouri, "thou wert en- 
chanted, O Satni!" But Satni, prostrating 
himself before Noferkephtah, asked how he 
might make atonement. 

"O Satni," answered Noferkephtah, "m}^ wife 
and my son are indeed buried at Coptos ; these 



The Fountain Maiden, 33 

whom thou sccst here are their Doubles only, — 
their Shadows, their luxs, — maintained with me 
by enchantment. Seek out tlicir resting-place at 
Coptos, therefore, and bur}^ their bodies with me, 
that we may all be thus reunited, and that thou 
mayst do nenanc e." . . . 

So Satni w^i<^^^l^^^^<4i^-e found an 
ancient pi^^stf?Mio told him tneif^f!S^ Ahouri's 
sepulture/ saying: ^nfire'MfiBbr of theVather of 
my fathel told iJltJli2^^0rql»@i4s father, Ivho told 
it to my fJ^A^" . . . Then Satni foMji^the bod- 
ies, and restNii^te^^aM»iph©b^rfs wife and 
his son ; and thtu!*TllU idliiuulU. *^fter which the 
tomb of Noferkephtah was sealed up forever b}^ 
Pharaoh's order ; and no man knoweth more the 
place of Noferkephtah' s sepulture. 



THE FOUNTAIN IVIAIDEN. 

A legend of that 2>f(C7jic laml ivhere garments are worn by 
none save the dead; where the beauty of youth is as the hcaxdy 
of statues of amber ; where through eternal suvinier even the 
mountains refuse to don a girdle of cloud. . . . 

" Mighty Omataianuku ! 
'' Dark Avaava the Tall ! 
3 



34 The Fountain Maiden, 

" Tall Oiituutu ! 

*' Shadow the waj' for us ! 

*' Tower as the cocoa-palms before us ! 

" Bend ye as dreams above the slumberers ! 

'' Make deeper the sleep of the sleepers ! 

" Sleep, 3'e crickets of the threshold ! Sleep, ye 
never reposing ants ! Sleep, ye shining beetles 
of the night! 

"Winds, cease 3e from whispering! Restless 
grass, pause in thy rustling ! Leaves of the 
palms, be still ! Reeds of the water-wa3-s, sway 
not ! Blue river, cease th}- lipping of the banks ! 

" Slumber, ye beams of the house, ye posts, 
great and small, ye rafters and ridge-poles, 
thatchings of grass, woven work of reeds, win- 
dows bamboo-latticed, doors that squeak like 
ghosts, low-glimmering fires of sandal- wood, — 
slumber ye all ! 

'* O Omataianuku ! 

*' Tall Outuutu ! 
' Dark AA^aava ! 

*' Make shadow}' the way for us ! 

"Tower as the cocoa-palms before us ! 

" Bend ye as dreams above the slumberers I 

" Make deeper the sleep of the sleepers, — 

" Deeper the sleep of the winds, — 

" Deeper the sleep of the waters, — 



The Fountain Maiden. 35 

" Dimmer the dimness of niglit ! 

"Veil ye the moon with 3'oar breathings ! 

" Make fainter the fires of the stars ! 

" In the name of the weird ones : — 

" Omataianuka ! 

" Outauturoraa ! 

' ' Ovaavaroroa ! 

"Sleep! 

' ' Sleep ! '* 

* 
* * 

So, with the rising of each new moon, was 
heard the magical song of the thieves, — the first 
night, low as the humming of the wind among 
the cocoa-palms ; louder and louder each suc- 
ceeding night, and clearer and sweeter, until the 
great white face of the full moon flooded the 
woods with light, and made silver pools about 
the columns of the palms. For the magic of the 
full moon was mightier than the witchcraft of the 
song ; and the people of Rarotonga slept not. 
But of other nights the invisible thieves did carry 
away many cocoanuts and taros, and plantains 
and bananas, despite the snares set for them b\' 
the people of Rarotonga. And it was observed 
with terror that cocoanuts were removed from 
the crests of trees so lofty that no human hand 
might have reached them. 






^-xf^ 



36 The Fountam Maiden, 

But the chief Aid, being one night b}^ the foun- 
tain Vaipiki, which gushes out from the place of 
waters that flow below the world, beheld rising 
up from the water, just as the thin moon looked 
into it, a youth and a girl whiter than the moon 
herself, naked as fishes, beautiful as dreams. 
And they began to sing a song, at whose sound 
Aki, hidden among the pandanus leaves, stopped 
his ears, — the wizard- song, E tira Omataia- 
7iuku^ E tira Oiituuturoroa! And the winds 
w^ere stilled, and the waves sank to sleep, and 
the palm-leaves ceased to nod, and the song of 

the crickets was hushed. 

* 

* * 

Then Aki, devising to capture them, set a 
great fish-net deep within the fountain, and waited 
for their i-eturn. The vast silence of the night 
deepened ; the smoke of the mountain of fire, 
blood-tinted from below, hung motionless in the 
sky, like a giant's plume of feathers. At last the 
winds of the sea began their ghost whisperings 
among the palm-groves ; a cricket chirped, and a 
million insect-chants responded ; the new moon 
plunged one of her pale horns into the ocean ; 
the east whitened and changed hue like the belly 
of a shark. The spell was broken, the day was 
dawning. 



The Fountain Maiden. 37 

And Aki beheld the White Ones retnrning, bear- 
ing with them fruits and nuts and fragrant herbs. 
Rising suddenly from his hiding-place among the 
leaves, he rushed upon tliem ; and they leaped 
into the fountain, like fishes, leaving their fruits 
scattered upon the brink. But, lo ! they were 
caught in the net ! 

Then Aki strove to pull the net on shore ; and, 
being a strong man, he easil}' moved it. But, in 
turning, the male leaped through the opening of 
the net, and flashed lilve a salmon through the 
deeps down to the unknown abyss of waters be- 
low, so that Aki caught the girl only. Vainl}^ 
she struggled in the net ; and her moon-white 
bod}' took opalescent gleams, like the bod}' of a 
beautiful fish in the hands of the captor. Vainly 
she wept and pleaded ; and Aki blocked up the 
bottom of the fountain with huge blocks of coral, 
lest, slipping awa}' from him, she might disappear 
again. But, looking upon the strangeness of her 
beaut}', he kissed her and comforted her ; and she 
ceased at last to weep. Her eyes were large and 
dark, like a tropical heaven flashed with stars. 

* 
* * 

So it came to pass that Aki loved her ; more 
than his own life he loved lier. And the people 
wondered at her beaut}' ; for light came from her 



38 The Fountain Maiden. 

as she moved, and when she swam in the river 
her passage was like the path of the moon on 
waters, — a qnivering cohmin of brightness. Only, 
it was noticed that this luminous beauty waxed 
and waned contrariwise to the waxing and wan- 
ing of the moon : her whiteness was whitest at 
the time of the new moon ; it almost ceased to 
glow when the foce of the moon was full. And 
whensoever the new moon rose, she wept silentl}^, 
so that Aki could not comfort her, even after 
liaving taught her the words of love in the tongue 
of his own people, — the tongue, man3'-vowelled, 
that wooes the listener like the mocker}' of a 
night-bird's song. 

* * 

Thus many years passed away, and Aki be- 
came old ; but she seemed ever the same, for the 
strange race to which she belonged never grow 
old. Then it was noticed that her e3'es became 
deeper and sweeter, — weirdl}' sweet ; and Aki 
knew that he would become a father in his age. 
Yet she w^ept and pleaded with him, saying : — 

" Lo ! I am not of thy race, and at last I must 
leave thee. If thou, lo vest me, sever this white 
bod}' of mine, and save our child ; for if it suckle 
me, I must dwell ten years longer in this world to 
wiiich I do not belono^. Thou canst not hurt me 



The Fountain Maiden. 39 

thus ; for though T seem to die, yet my body will 
live ou, — thou mayst not wound me more than 
water is wounded by axe or spear! For I am 
of the water and the light, of moonshine and 
of wind ! And I may not suckle thy child.". . . 

But Alvi, fearing that he might lose both her 
and the child, pleaded with her successfully. And 
the child was beautiful as a white star, and she 
nursed it for ten happ}- jears. 

But, the ten years having passed, she kissed 
Aki, and said to him, "Alas! I must now leave 
thee, lest I die utterly; take thou away, there- 
fore, the coral rocks from the fountain." And 
kissing him once more, she vowed to come back 
again, so that he complied at last with her request. 
She would have had him go with her ; but he could 
not, being only mortal man. Then she passed 
away in the fountain deeps, like a gleam of light. 
* * 

The child grew up very tall and beautiful, but 
not like his mother, — white only like strangers 
from beyond the sea. In his eyes there was, nev- 
ertheless, a strange light, brightest at the time of 
the new moon, waning with its waxing. . . . One 
night there came a great storm : the cocoa-palms 
bent like reeds, and a strange voice came with 
the wind, crying, calling! At dawn the white 



40 The Fountain Maiden, 

youth was gone, nor did human eyes ever behold 
him again. 

But Aki lived beyond a hundred years, waiting 
for the return by the Yaipiki fountain, until his 
hair was whiter than the summer clouds. At last 
the people carried him away, and laid him in his 
house on a bed of pandanus leaves ; and all the 
women watched over him. lest he should die. 

... It was the night of a new month, and the 
rising of the new moon. Suddenly a low sweet 
voice was heard, singing the old song that some 
remembered after the j^assing of half a hundred 
years. Sweeter and sweeter it grew ; higher rose 
the moon ! The crickets ceased to sing ; the 
cocoa-palms refused obeisance to the wind. And 
a heaviness fell upon the watchers, who, with open 
eyes, could move no hmb, utter no voice. Then 
all were aware of a White Woman, whiter than 
moonlight, hthe-fashioned as a lake-fish, gliding be- 
tween the ranks of the watchers ; and, taking Aki's 
gra3^head upon her bright breast, she sang to him, 
and kissed him, and stroked his aged face. . . . 

The sun arose ; the watchers awakened. They 
bent over Aki, and it seemed that Aki slept lightly. 
But when the}' called him, he answered not ; when 
they touched him, he stirred not. He slept for- 
ever! ... 



The Bird Wife, 41 



THE BIRD WIFE. 

There the Moon bccometh old and again young many times, 
as one that, dleth often and is reanimated as often hy enchant- 
ment ; while the San moveth in a circle of pallid mists, and 
setteth not. But when he sctteth at last, it is still light ; for tlie 
dead make red fires in the sky above the icebergs until after 
maiiy, many dim months he riscth again. 

All things there are white, save the black sea 
and the wan fogs ; and yet it is hard to discover 
where tlie w\ater ends and the land begins, for 
that part of the world the gods forgot to finish. 
The ice-peaks grow and diminish, and shift their 
range northward and sonthward, and change their 
aspects grotesquely. There are Faces in the ice 
that lengthen and broaden ; and Forms as of van- 
ished creatures. When it is full moon the in- 
numerable multitude of dogs, that live upon dead 
fish, howl all together at the roaring sea ; and the 
great bears hearing huddle themselves together 
on the highest heights of the glaciers, and thence 
hurl down sharp white crags upon the dogs. 
Above all, rising into the Red Lights, there is 
a mountain which has been a fountain of living 
fire ever since the being of the world ; and all 
the surface of tlie land about is heaped with uiou- 



42 The Bird Wife. 

stroiis bones. But this is summer in that place ; 
in winter there is no sound but tiie groaning of 
the ice, the shrieking of the winds, the gnashing 
of the teeth of the floes. 

Now there are men in those parts, whose houses 
are huts of snow, liglited b}' lamps fed with the 
oil of sea-creatures ; and the wild dogs obey them. 
But the}^ live in fear of the Havstramb, that 
monster which has the form of an armless man 
and the green color of ancient ice ; thej' fear the 
Margige, shaped like a woman, which cries un- 
der the ice on which their huts repose ; and the 
gobUn Bear whose fangs are icicles ; and the 
Kajarissat, which are the spirits of the icebergs, 
drawing the ka3^aks under the black water ; and 
the ghostly ivorj'-hunter who drives his vapory 
and voiceless team over ice thinner than the 
scales of fish ; and the white Spectre that lies in 
wait for those wiio lose their way b}' night, hav- 
ing power to destro}^ all whom he can excite to 
laughter by weird devices ; and the wdiite-eyed 
deer which must not be pursued. There also 
is the home of the warlocks, the wizards, the 
Iliseetsut, — creators of the Tupilek. 

Now the Tupilek is of all awful things the 
most awful, of all unutterable things the most 
unutterable. 



The Bird Wife, 43 

For that land is full of bones, — the bones of 
sea monsters and of earth monsters, the skulls 
and ribs of creatures that perished in eons ere 
man was born ; and there are mountains, there 
are islands, of these bones. Sometimes great mer- 
chants from far southern countries send thither 
ivorj^-hunters with sledges and innumerable dogs 
to risk their lives for those white teeth, those ter- 
rific tusks, which ])rotrude from the ice and from 
the sand, that is not deep enough to cover them. 
And the lliseetsut seek out the hugest of these 
bones, and wrap them in a great whale skin, to- 
gether with the hearts and the brains of man}^ 
sea creatures and earth animals ; and they utter 
strange words over them. Then the vast mass 
quivers and groans and shapes itself mto a form 
more hideous, more enormous, than any form 
created hy the gods ; it moves upon many feet ; 
it sees with many eyes ; it devours with innu- 
n^erable teeth ; it obeys the will of its creator ; 
it is a Tupilek ! 

* * 

And all things change form in that place, — 
oven as the ice shifts its shapes fantastically, 
as the boundaries of the sand eternall}- vary, 
as bone becomes earth and earth seems to be- 
come bone. So animals also take human like- 



44 The Bird Wife. 

ness, birds assume human bodies ; for there is 
sorcery in all things there. Thus it came to pass, 
one da}', that a certain ivory-hunter belield a 
flock of sea-birds change themselves into women ; 
and creeping cautiously over the white snow — 
himself being clad in white skins — he came 
suddenly upon them, and caught hold of the 
nearest one with a strong hand, while the rest, 
turning again to birds, flew southward with long 
weird screams. 

Slender was the girl, liliie a 3'oung moon, and as 
white ; and her eyes black and soft, like those of 
the wild gulls. vSo the hunter — finding that she 
struggled not, but onl}' wept — • felt pity for her, 
and, taking her -into his warm hut of snow, clotlied 
her in soft skins and fed her with the heart of a 
great fish. Then, his pity turning to love, she 
became his wife. 

Two years they lived thus together, and he fed 
her with both fish and flesh, being skilful in the 
use of the net and the bow ; but alwa3's while 
absent he blocked np the door of the hut, lest she 
miglit change into a bird again, and so take wing. 
After she had borne him two children, nevertlie- 
less, his fear passed from him, like the memory 
of a dream ; and she followed him to the chase, 
manao-inix the bow with wonderful skill. But she 



The Bird Wife. 45 

prevailed upon him that he should not smite the 
wild gulls. 

So the}' lived and so loved until the children 
became strong and swift. 

Then it came to pass one da}', while they were 
hunting all together, that many birds had been 
killed; and she called to the children, '^ Little 
ones, bring me quickly some feathers ! '* And 
they came to her with their hands full ; and she 
laid the feathers upon their arms and upon her 
own shoulders, and shrieked to them, ''Fly! 
3'e are of the race of birds, ye are the Wind's 
children ! " 

Forthwith their garments fell from them ; and, 
being changed into wild gulls, mother and chil- 
dren rose in the bright icy air, circling and cir- 
cling, higher and higher, against the sky. Thrice 
above the weeping father they turned in spiral 
flight, thrice screamed above the peaks of glim- 
mering ice, and, sweeping suddenly toward the far 
south, whirred away forever. 



u^w 



TALES FROM INDIAN AND BUDDHIST 
LITERATURE. 



THE MAKING OF TILOTTAMA. 



Which is told of 1,0 the hohj Maiiabharata, written by the 
blessed liichi Krishna-Dvaipayima, who composed it in twenty- 
four thousand slokas, i and who composed six millions of sloTcas 
likewise. Of the latter are three millions in the keeinng of the 
gods; and one million five hundred thousand in the keciring 
of the Gandharbas, who are tlie musicians of Indra's Heaven ; 
and one million four hundred thousand in the keeping of tJu, 
ntris, ivho are the ghosts of the blessed dead ; and one hun- 
dred thousand in the keeping of men. . . . And the guiltiest of 
men ivho shall hear the recital of the Mahabharata shall be 
delivered from all his sins ; neither sickness nor misfortune 
shall come nigh him. 

Now I shall tell -you how it happened that the 
great gods once became multiple-faced and myriad- 

1 According to the exordium in the Adi-Parva of the 
Mahabharata, this now most gigantic of e[)ics at first con- 
sisted of 24,000 slokas only. Subsequent additions swelled 
the number of its distiches to the prodigious figure ol 
107,389. — L. H. 

4 



50 The Making of Tilottama. 

ej'ed by reason of a woman's beaut}', as the same 
is recounted in tl 
the Mahabharata. 



is recounted in the Book of Great Weight, — in 



* 



In ancient years there were two Daiteyas, twin 
brothers sprung from the race of the Asouras, the 
race of evil genii ; and their names were Sounda 
and Oupasounda. Princes they were born ; cruel 
and terrible the}' grew up, 3'et were ever one in 
purpose, in thought, in the pursuit of pleasure, or 
in the perpetration of crime. 

And in the course of time it came to pass that 
the brothers resolved to obtain domination over 
the Three Worlds, and to practise all those aus- 
terities and sacrifices b}^ which the holiest as- 
cetics elevate themseh^es to divinit}'. 80 they 
departed to the solitude of the mountain Vindhya, 
and there devoted themselves to contemplations 
and to prayer, until their mighty limbs became 
slender as jungle-canes, and their joints like knots 
of bone. And the}' ceased all the. actions of life, 
and forbore all contact with things earthly, — 
knowing that contact with earthly things bcget- 
teth sensation, and sensation desire, and desire 
corruption, and corruption existence. Thus by 
dint of meditation and austerity the world became 
for them as non-existent. By one effort of will 



The Making of Tilottama, 51 

the}' might have shaken the universe ; the world 
trembled under the weight of their thoughts as 
though laboring in earthquake. Air was their 
onl}' nourishment ; they offered up their own flesh 
in sacrifiee ; and the Vindh\a, heated by the 
force of their austerities, smoked -to heaven like 
a mountain of fire. 

Therefore the divinities, being terrified, sought 
to divert them from their austerities, and to trou- 
ble their senses b}' apparitions of women and of 
demons and of gods. But the Asouras ceased not 
a moment to practise their mortifications, stand- 
ing upon their great toes only, and keeping their 

e3'es fixed upon the sun. 

* 
* * 

Now, after many years, it came to pass that 
Brahma, Ancient of Days, Father of the Creator 
of Worlds, appeared before them as a Shape of 
light, and bade them ask for whatsoever tliey de- 
sired. And they made answer, with hands joined 
before their foreheads : " If the Father of the Fa- 
ther of "Worlds be gratified by our penances, we 
desire to acquire knowledge of all arts of magic 
and arts of war, to possess the gifts of beauty and 
of strength, and the promise of immortahty." 

But the Shape of Brahma answered unto them : 
'^Immortality will not be given unto j'ou, O 



52 The Making of Tilottama, 

Princes of Daite3'as, inasmuch as 3'e practised 
austerities onl}' that ye might obtain dominion 
over the Three Worlds. Yet will I grant ye the 
knowledge and power and the bodily- gifts 3^e de- 
sire. Also it shall be vouchsafed you that none 
shall be able to destro}^ you ; neither among crea- 
tures of earth nor spirits nor gods shall an}' have 
power to do you hurt, save ye hurt one another." 

Thus the two Daite3'as obtained the favor of 
Brahma, and became unconquerable bv gods or 
men. And the3' returned to their habitation, and 
departed utterly from the path of righteousness, 
eating and drinking and sinning exceedingl}', 
more than an3' of their evil race had done before 
them ; so that their existence might be likened to 
one never-ending feast of unhol3' pleasures. But 
no pleasures could satiate these Asouras, though 
all mortals dwelHng with them suffered b3' reason 
of monstrous excesses. 

B3' the two Daiteyas, indeed, repose and sleep 
w^ere never desired nor even needed, ■ — night and 
day were as one for them ; but those mortals 
about them speedih' died of pleasure, and the 
Daiteyas were angry with them because the3' died. 

Now, at last, the two Asouras resolved to 
forego pleasure awdiile, that the3' might make 



The Making of Tilottama. 53 

the conquest of the Three Worlds b}^ force of 
that magical knowledge imparted to them by will 
of Brahma. And they warred against Indra's 
Heaven ; for it had been given them to move 
through air more swiftlj' than demons. The 8ou- 
ras, indeed, and the gods knowing of their com- 
ing and the nature of the powers that had been 
given them, passed awa}' to the Brahmaloka, 
where dwell the spirits of the holiest dead. But 
the Daiteyas, taking possession with their army of 
evil genii, slew many of the Yakshas, who are the 
guardians of treasures, and the Rakshas, w^hich 
are demons, and multitudes of all the beinos 
which fly through the airs. After these things 
they slew all the Nagas, the human-visaged ser- 
pents living in the entrails of the world ; and they 
overcame all the creatures of the sea. 

Then they made resolve to extend their evil 
power over the whole earth, and to destroy all 
worshippers of the gods. For the prayers and the 
sacrifices offered up by the Radjarchis and the 
Brahmans continually augmented the power of 
the gods; and these Daiteyas therefore hated 
exceedingly all holy men. Because of the power 
given the wicked princes, none could oppose their 
will, nor did the mighty imprecations of the her- 
mits and the Brahmans avail. All worshippers of 



54 The Making of Tilottama, 

the gods were (lestroyecl ; the eternal altar-fires 
were scattered and extinguished ; the hoi}' offer- 
ings were cast into the waters ; tlie sacred ves- 
sels were broken ; the awful temples were cast 
down ; and the face of the earth made vast with 
desolation, as though ravaged b\' the god of death. 
And the Asouras, changing themselves b}' magi- 
cal art into the form of tigers, of lions, of furious 
elephants, sought out all those ascetics who lived 
in the secret hollows of the mountains or the un- 
known recesses of the forest or the deep silence 
of thie jungles, and destroyed them. So that the 
world became a waste strewn with human bones ; 
and there were no cities, no populations, no 
smoke of sacrifice, no murmur of prayer, no hu- 
man utterance, — vast horror only, and hideous 

death. 

* 
* * 

Then all the holy people of air, — the Sid- 

dhas and the Devarchis and the Paramarchis, — 

aghast at the desolation of the w^orld, and filled 

with divinest compassion for the universe, flocked 

to the dwelling-place of Brahma, and made plaint 

to him of these things which had been done, and 

besought him that he would destro}' the power 

of Sounda and Oupasounda. Now l^rahma was 

seated among the gods, surrounded by the circles 



The 3Iaking of Tilottama, 55 

of the Sicldhas and the Bramarchis ; Mahadeva 
was there, and Indra, and Agni, Prince of Fire, 
and Vayou, Lord of AVinds, and Aditaya, the Sun- 
god, who drives the seven-headed steeds, and 
Tchandra, the lotos-loving god of the Moon. And 
all the elders of heaven stood about them, — the 
hoi}" Marichipas and Adjas and Avimoudhas and 
Tedjogharbas ; the Vanaprasthas of the forest, 
and the Siddhas of the airs, and the Vaikhanas 
who live upon roots, and the sixty thousand lumi- 
nous Balakhilyas, — not bigger than the thumb of 
a man, — who sprang from the hairs of Brahma. 

Then from the violet deeps of the eternities 
Brahma summoned unto him Viswakarman, the 
Fashioner of the Universe, the Creator of Worlds, 
— Viswakarman, Kindler of all the Lights of 
Heaven. And Viswakarman arose from the eter- 
nities as a star-cloud, and stood in light before 
the All-Father. 

And Brahma spake unto him, saying : " O 
my golden son, O Viswakarman, create me a 
woman fairer than the fairest, sweeter than the 
sweetest, — whose beautj' might even draw the 
hearts of all divinities, as the moon draweth all 
the waters in her train. ... I wait! " 

* * 
So Viswakarman, veiling himself in mists, 



B6 The Making of Tilottama, 

wrought in obedience to the Father of Gods, in- 
visibl}^, awfully, with all manner of precious gems, 
with all colors of heaven, with all perfume of 
flowers, with all ra3-s of light, with all tones of 
music, with all things beautiful and precious to 
the sight, to the touch, to the hearing, to the 
taste, to the sense of odors. And as vapors are 
wrought into leafiest lace work of frosts, as sun- 
beams are transmuted into gems of a hundred 
colors, so, all mj'steriousl}', were ten thousand 
priceless things blended into one new substance 
of life ; and the substance found shape, and was 
resolved into tlie bod}' of a woman. All blossom- 
beaut}' tempted in her bosom ; all perfume lin- 
gered in her breath ; all jewel-fires made splendor 
for her e^es ; her locks were wrought of sunlight 
and of gold ; the flowers of heaven rebudded in 
her lips ; the pearl and the fairy opal blended in 
her smile ; the tones of her voice were made with 
the love-songs of a thousand birds. And a name 
was given unto her, Tilottama, which signifies in 
that ancient Indian tongue, spoken of gods and 
men, "Fair-wrought of daintiest atoms." . . . 
Then Viswakarman passed awa}' as the glor}' of 
evening fades out, and sank into the Immensities, 
and mingled with the Eternities where no time or 

space is. 

* 
* * 



The Making of Tilottama, 57 

And Tilottama, clothed onl}^ with light as with 
a garment, joining her hands before her luminous 
brows in adoration, bowed down to the Father of 
Gods, and spake with the sweetest voice ever 
heard even within the heaven of heavens, saying : 
*' O thou universal Father, let me know thy will, 
and the divine purpose for which I have been 
created." 

And the deep tones of gold made answer, 
gently : "Descend, good Tilottama, into the world 
of men, and display the witchcraft of thy beauty 
in the sight of Sounda and Oupasounda, so that 
the Daiteyas may be filled with hatred, each 
against the other, because of thee." 

" It shall be according to thy desire, O INIas- 
ter of Creatures," answered Tilottama ; and, hav- 
ing prostrated her beautiful body thrice before 
Brahma, she glided about the circle of the gods, 
saluting all as she passed. 

Now the great god Siva, the blessed Mahes- 
wara, was seated in the south, with face turned 
toward Mie east; the other gods were looking 
toward the north ; and the seven orders of the 
richis — the Devarchis, Bramarchis, Maharchis, 
Paramarchis, Radjarchis, Kandarchis, and Sroutar- 
chis — sat upon every side. And while Tilottama 
passed around the circle, the gods strove not to 



58 The Malnng of Tilottama, 

gaze upon her, lest their hearts should be drawn 
irresistibly toward that magical beauty-, created 
not for J03', indeed, bnt verilj' for destruction. 
So for a moment Indra and the blessed Sthauou 
made their hearts strong against her. But as she 
drew near to Maheswara, who kept his face to 
the east, there came to Maheswara another face, 
a face lipon the south side, with e3'es more beau- 
tiful than lotos-flowers. And when she turned 
behind him, there came to him 3'et another face 
upon the west side ; and even as she turned to 
the north, there came to him a face upon the 
north side, so that he could not choose but gaze 
upon her. And even great Indra's bod}', as she 
turned around him, blossomed with e3es, before, 
behind, on ever}' side, even to the number of a 
thousand e^^es, large and deep and ruddy-lidded. 
Thus it was that Mahadeva became the Four- 
faced God, and Balasoudana the God with a 
Thousand Eyes. And new faces grew upon all 
the divinities and all habitants of heaven as Tilot- 
tama passed around them ; all became double- 
faced, triple-faced, or myriad-faced, in despite of 
their purpose not to look upon her, so mighty 
was tke magic of her loveliness ! Onl}' Brahma, 
Father of all the Gods, remained impassive as 
eternit}' ; for unto him beauty and hideousness, 



The MaMng of Tilottama. 59 

light and darkness, night and da}', death and life, 
the finite and the infinite, are ever one and the 
same. . . . 

* * 

Now Sounda and Oapasoundr. were diverting 
themselves with their wicked women among the 
mountains, when they first perceived Tilottama 
gathering flowers ; and at the sight of her their 
hearts ceased to pulsate. And tliey forgot not 
onh' all that they had done, and their riches and 
their power and their pleasures, but also the di- 
vine provision that the\' could die onl}' by each 
other's hands. Each drew near unto Tilottama ; 
each sought to kiss her mouth ; each repulsed his 
brother ; each claimed her for himself. And the 
first hatred of each other made flame in their 
eyes. '' Mine she shall be ! " cried Oupasounda. 
"Wrest her from me if thou canst!" roared 
Sounda in mad defiance. And passing from 
words to reproaches, and from reproaches to 
might}' blows, they fell upon each other with 
their weapons, and strove together until both 
were slain. 

Then a great fear came upon all the evil com- 
pany, and the women fled shrieking away ; and 
the Asouras, beholding tlie hand of Brahma in 
these things, trembled, and took flight, return- 



60 The Making of Tilottama. 

ing nnto their abode of fire and darkness, even 
unto the Pataki, which is the habitation of the 
damned. 

* * 

But Tilottama, returning to the Brahmaloka, re- 
ceived the commendation of the gods, and kindly 
praise from Brahma, Fatlier of Workls and Men, 
who bade her ask for whatsoever grace she most 
desired. But she asked liim onl3' that she might 
dwell forever in that w^orld of splendors and of 
light, which the blessed inhabit. And the Uni- 
versal Father made answer, saying: '^Granted 
is th}' prayer, O most seductive among created 
beings ! thou shalt dwell in the neighborhood of 
the sun, yet not among the gods, lest mischief be 
wrought. And the dazzle of th}' beauty shall 
hinder the e^'es of mortals from beholding thee, 
that their hearts be not consumed because of thee. 
Dwell therefore within the heaven of the sua 
forevermore." 

And Brahma, having restored to Indra the 
dominion of the Three Worlds, withdrew into 
the infinite li^ht of the Brahmaloka. 



The Brahman and his BrahmanL 61 



THE BRAHMAN AND HIS BRAHMANI. 

The loise will not attach themselves unto loomen ; for ivomcn 
sport with the hearts of those loho love them, even as with 
ravens whose lu in g -feathers have been plucked out. . . . There 
is honey in the tongues of women ; there is nought in their 
heart save the venom halahala. . . . Their nature is mobile as 
the eddies of the sea ; their affection endures no longer than the 
glow of gold above the place of sunset : all venom loiihin, all 
fair without, icomen are like unto the fruit of the goundja. 
. . . Therefore the experienced and icise do avoid women, even 
as they shun the loater-vessels thcd are placed tvilhin the ceme- 
teries. . . . 

In the " Paiitcliopakln'ana," and also in that 
"Ocean of the Rivers of Legend," whieli is 
called in the ancient Indian tongue " Kathasa- 
ritsagara,'' ma}- be found this stoiy of a Brahman 
and his Brahmani : — 

. . . Never did the light that is in the e\'es 
of lovers shine more tenderl}' than in the eyes 
of the Brahman who gave his life for the life of 
the woman under whose lotos-feet he laid his 
heart. Yet what man lives that hath not once 
in his time been a prey to the madness inspired 
bv woman? . . . 



G2 The Brahman and Ms Brahmani, 

lie alone loved her ; his fainilj' being loath to 
endure her presence, — for in her tongue was the 
subtle poison that excites sister against brother, 
friend against fricnel. But so much did he love her 
that for her sake he abandoned father and mother, 
brother and sister, and departed with his Brah- 
mani to seek fortune in other parts. Ilappilj' his 
guardian Deva accompanied him, — for he was in- 
deed a holy man, having no fault but the foil}' of 
loving too much ; and the Deva, hy reason of 
spiritual sight, foresaw all that would come to 
pass. 

As they were journej'ing together through the 
elephant-haunted forest, the 3'oung woman said 
to her husband : " O thou son of a venerable man, 
th}' Brahmani dies of thirst ; fetch her, she hum- 
bl}' prciys thee, a little water from the nearest 
spring." And tlie Brahman forthwith hastened 
to the running brook, with the gourd in his hand ; 
but when ho had returned with the water, he 
found his beloved lying dead upon a heap of 
leaves. Now this death was indeed the unseen 
work of the good Deva. 

So, casting the goiuxl from him, the Brahman 
burst into tears, and sobbed as though his soul 
w^onld pass from him, and kissed the bcautii'ul 
dead face and the slender dead feet and the 



The Brahman and his BrahmanL 63 

golden throat of his Brahmani, shrieking betimes 
in his miseiy, and daring to question the gods as 
to wh}' the}' had so atfiicted him. But even as he 
lamented, a voiee answered him in syllables clear 
as the notes of a singing bird: "Foolish man! 
wilt thou give half of th_y life in order that th}' 
Brahmani sliall live again?" 

And lie, in whom love had slain all fear, an- 
swered nntremblingl}' to the Invisible: "Yea, 
C Nara^'ana, half ot my life will I give unto her 
gladl}'." Then spake the Invisible: "Foolish 
man ! pronounce the three mystic syllables." 
And he pronounced them ; and the Brahmani, 
as if awaking from a dream, unclosed her jewel- 
e3'es, and wound her round arms about her hus- 
band's neck, and Avith her fresh lips drank the 
rain of his tears as the lips of a blossom drink in 
the dews of the night. 

* * 

So, having eaten of fruits and refreshed them- 
selves, both proceeded upon their wa}' ; and at 
last, leaving the forest, the}' came to a great 
stretch of gardens lying without a white city, — 
gardens rainbow-colored with flo\vers of marvel- 
lous perfume, and made cool by fountains flow- 
ing from the lips of gods in stone and from the 
trunks of elephants of rock. Then said the 



64 Tlie Brahman ami his BrahmanL 

loving husband to his Brahmaiii : " Remain here 
a httle while, thou too sweet one, that I may 
hasten on to return to thee sooner with fruits 
and refreshing drink.". . . 

Now in that phice of gardens dwelt a youth, 
employed to draw up water b}' the turning of a 
great wheel, and to cleanse the mouths of the 
fountains ; and although a youth, lie had been 
long consumed by one of those maladies that 
make men tremble with cokl beneath a sky of 
fire, so that there was little of his youthfulness 
left to him excepting his voice. But with that 
voice he charmed the hearts of women, as the 
juggler charms the hooded serpent ; and, seeing 
the wife of the Brahman, he sang that she might 
hear. 

He sang as the birds sing in the woods in pair- 
mg time, as the waters sing that lip the curves of 
summered banks, as the Apsaras sang in other kai- 
pas ; and he sang the songs of Amarou, — Ama- 
rou, sweetest of all singers, whose soul had passed 
through a centur}' of transmigrations in the bod- 
ies of a hundred fairest women, until he became 
the world's master in all mysteries of love. And 
as the Brahmani listened, Kama transpierced her 
heart with his flower-pointed arrow's, so that, ap- 
proaching the youth, she pressed her lips upon 



The Brahman and his Brahmani. 65 

his lips, and murmured, "If thou lovest me not, 
I die." 

* * 

Therefore, when the Brahman returned with 
fruits and drink, she coaxed him that he should 
share these with the 3'outh, and even praj-ed him 
that he should bring tlie youth along as a travel- 
ling companion or as a domestic. 

" Behold ! " answered the Brahman, "this young 
man is too feeble to bear hardship ; and if he fall 
by the wayside, 1 shall not be strong enough to 
cany him." But the Brahmani answered, " Na}^ ! 
should he fall, then will I myself carr}- him in ni}'' 
basket, upon my head ; " and the Brahman yielded 
to her request, although marvelling exceedinglj'. 
So they all travelled on together. 

Now one day, as they were reposing by a deep 
well, the Brahmani, beholding her husband asleep, 
pushed him so that he fell into the well ; and she 
departed, taking the youth with her. Soon after 
tins had happened, they came to a great city where 
a famous and holy king lived, who loved ail Brah- 
mans and had built them a temple surrounded by 
rich lands, pa} ing for the land by laying golden 
elephant-feet in lines round about it. And the 
cunning Brahmani, when arrested hy the toll- 
collectors and taken before this king, — still 
5 



6Q The Brahman and his Brahmani. 

bearing the sick youth upon her head in a basket, 
— bokll}^ spake to the king, saying : " Tliis, most 
holy of kings, is m}' dearest husband, a righteous 
Brahman, who has met with affliction while per- 
Ibrming the good works ordained for such as he ; 
and inasmuch as heirs sought his life, I have con- 
cealed him in this basket and brought him hither." 
Then the king, being filled with compassion, be- 
stowed upon the Brahmani and her pretended hus- 
band the revenues of two villages and the freedom 
thereof, saying : " Thou shalt be henceforth as my 
sister, thou comeliest and truest of women." 

* * 

But the poor Brahman was not dead ; for his 
good Deva had preserved his life within the well- 
pit, and certain travellers passing by drew him 
up and gave him to eat. Thus it happened tliat 
he presently came to the same village in which 
the wicked Brahmani dwelt; and, fearing with an 
exceeding great fear, she hastened to the king, 
and said, '' Lo ! the enemy who seeketh to kill ni}^ 
husband pursueth after us." 

Then said the king, "Let him be trampled 
under foot by the elephants ! " 

But the Brahman, struggling in the grasp of 
the king's men, cried out, with a bitter avy : "' O 
king ! art thou indeed called just, who will not 



The Brahman and his Brahmani. 67 

hearken to the voice of the accused ? This fair 
but wicked woman is indeed my own wife ; ere 
I be condemned, let her first give back to me that 
which I gave her ! " 

And the king bade his men stay their hands. 
"Give him back," he commanded, in a voice of 
tempest, '' that which belongs to him ! " 

But the Brahmani protested, saying, " My lord, 
I have nought which belongs to him." So the 
king's l)row darkened with the frown of a maha- 
rajah. 

" Give me back," cried the Brahman, " the life 
which I gave thee, my own life given to thee with 
the utterance of the three mystic syllables, — the 
half of my own 3-ears." 

Then, through exceeding fear of the king, she 
murmured, "Yea, I render it up to thee, the life 
thou gavest me with the utterance of the three 
mystic syllables, — and fell dead at the kino's 
feet. 

Thus the truth was made manifest ; and hence 
the proverb arose : — 

" /She f 07' ichom I gave vjy family, home, and 
even the half of my life, hath abandoned me, the 
heartless one! What man may put faith in 
XGomen ! " 



68 Bakawali, 



BAKAWALI. 

There is in the Hindustani languar/e a marvellous tale iiritten 
by a Moslem, but treating nevertheless of the ancient gods of 
India, and of the Apsaras and of the Hakshasas. " The Rose 
of Bakawali " it is called. Therein also mag he found many 
stranc/e histories of fountains filled ivilh magical waters, changing 
the sex of those who bathe therein ; and histories of /lowers created 
by witchcraft — never fading — whose perfumes give sight to the 
blind; and, above all, this history of love human and superhuman, 
for which a parallel may not be found. . . . 

. . In days when tlie great Rajah Zain-iilmiiliik 
reigned over the eastern kingdoms of Hindostan, 
it came to pass that Bakawg^li, the Apsara, fell in 
love with a mortal 30uth who was none other than 
the son of the Rajah. For the lad was beautiful 
as a girl, beautiful even as the god Kama, and 
seeming!}' created for love. Now in that land all 
living things are sensitive to loveliness, even the 
plants themselves, — like the Asoka that bursts 
into odorous blossom when touched even bj' the 
foot of a comely maiden. Yet was Bakawali fairer 
than any earthly creature, being a daughter of 
the immortals ; and those who had seen her, be- 
lieving her born of mortal woman, would answer 
when interrogated concerning her, " Ask not us 1 



BakawalL 69 

rather ask thou the nightingale to sing of her 
beauty." 

Never had the youth Taj-uhnuhik guessed that 
his beloved was not of mortal race, having en- 
countered her as b}' hazard, and being secrctl}- 
united to her after the Gandharva fashion. But 
he knew that her eyes were preternaturally large 
and dark, and the odor of her hair like Tartary 
musk ; and there seemed to transpire from her 
wdien she moved such a light and such a perfume 
that he remained bereft of utterance, while watch- 
ing her, and immobile as a figure painted upon 
a wall. And the lamp of love being enkindled 
in the heart of Bakawali, her wisdom, like a 
golden moth, consumed itself in the flame thereof, 
so that she forgot her people utterly, and her im- 
mortalit}', and even the courts of heaven wherein 

she was wont to dwell. 

* 
* * 

In the sacred books of the Hindus there is 
much written concerning the eternal city Arma- 
nagar, whose inhabitants are immortal. There 
Indra, azure-bearded, dwells in sleepless pleas- 
ure, surrounded b\' his never-slumbering court of 
celestial bayaderes, circling about him as the con- 
stellations of heaven circle in their golden dance 
about Surya, the sun. And this was Bakawali's 



70 Bakaimli. 

home, that she had abandoned for the love of a 
man. 

So it came to pass one night, a night of per- 
fume and of pleasure, that Indra started up from 
his couch hke one suddenly' remembering a thing 
long forgotten, and asked of those about him : 
" IIow happens it that Bakawali, daughter of 
Firoz, no more appears before us?"^ And one 
of them made answer, saying: "O great Indra, 
that pretty fish hath been caught in the net of 
human love ! Like the nightingale, never does 
she cease to complain because it is not possible 
for her to love even more ; intoxicated is she with 
the perishable youth and beauty of her mortal 
lover; and she lives onh' for him and in him, so 
that even her own kindred are now forgotten or 
have become to her objects of aversion. And it 
is because of him, O Lord of Suras and Devas, 
that the rosy one no longer presents herself before 
thy court." 

Then was Indra wroth ; and lie commanded that 
Bakawali be perforce brought before him, that 
she might render account of her amorous foil}'. 
And the Devas, awaking her, placed her in their 
cloud-chariot, and brought her into the presence 
of Indra, her lips still humid with mortal kisses, 
and on her throat red-blossom marks left by hu- 



Bakawali, 71 

man lips. And she knelt before him, with fin- 
gers joined fis in prayer ; while the Lord of the 
firmament gazed at lier in silent anger, with such 
a frown as he was wont to wear when riding to 
battle upon his elephant triple-trunked. Then 
said he to the Devas about him: "Let her be 
purified b^' fire, inasmuch as I discern about her 
an odor of mortality off"ensive to immortal sense. 
And even so often as she returns to her folly, so 
oftjn let her be consumed in my sight." . . . 

Accordingly they bound the fairest of Apsaras, 
and cast her into a furnace furious as the fires of 
the sun, so that within a moment her body was 
changed to a white heap of ashes. But over the 
aslies was magical water sprinkled ; and out of 
tlie furnace Bakawali arose, nude as one newly 
born, but more perfect in rosy beauty even than 
before. And Indra commanded her to dance 
before him, as she was wont to do m other 
days. 

So she danced all those dances known in the 
courts of heaven, curving herself as flowers curve 
under a perfumed breeze, as water serpentines 
under the light ; and she circled before them rap- 
idly a^ a leaf-whirling wind, lightly as a bee, with 
myriad variations of delirious grace, with ever- 
shifting enchantment of motion, until the hearts 



72 Bakatvali. 

of all who looked upon her were beneath those 
shining feet, and all cried aloud : " O flower- 
bod}' ! O rose-bod}' ! O marvel of the Garden 
of Grace ! blossom of daintiness ! O flower- 
body ! " 

* 
* * 

Thus was she each night obliged to appear be- 
fore Indra at Armanagar, and each night to suffer 
the fiercest purification of fire, forasmuch as she 
would not forsake her folly ; and each night also 
did she return to her mortal lover, and take her 
wonted place beside him without awaking him, 
having first batlied her in the great fountain of 
rosewater within the court. 

But once it happened that Taj-ulmuluk awoke 
in the night, and reaching out his arms found she 
was not there. Onl}' the perfume of her head 
upon the pillow, and odorous garments flung in 
charming formlessness upon every divan. . . . 

When she returned, seemingl}' fairer than be- 
fore, the 3'outh uttered no reproach, but on the 
night following he slit up the tip of his finger 
with a sharp knife, and filled the wound with salt 
that he might not sleep. Then, when the aerial 
chariot descended all noiselessly, like some long 
clond moon-silvered, he arose and followed Baka- 
wali unperceived. Clinging underneath the char- 



Bakatoali. 73 

iot, he was borne above winds even to Armanagar, 
and into the jewelled courts and into the presence 
of Indra. But Indra knew not, for his senses 
were dizzy with sights of beaut}' and the fumes 
of soma-wine. 

Then did Taj-ulmuluk, standing in the shadow 
of a pillar, behold beaut}' such as he had never 
before seen — save in Bakawali — and hear music 
sweeter than mortal musician ma}^ ever learn. 
Splendors bewildered his eyes ; and the crossing 
of the fretted and jewelled archwork above him 
seemed an intercrossing and interblending of in- 
numerable rainbows. But when it was given to 
him, all unexpectedl}', to view the awful purifica- 
tion of Bakawali, his heart felt like ice within 
him, and he shrieked. Nor coulcT he have re- 
frained from casting himself also into that burst 
of white fire, had not the magical words been pro- 
nounced and the wizard-water sprinkled before he 
was able to move a limb. Then did he behold 
Bakawali rising from her snowy cinders, — shin- 
ing like an image of the goddess Lakshmi in the 
fairest of her thousand forms, — more radiant than 
before, like some comet returning from the em- 
braces of the sun with brighter curves of form and 
longer glories of luminous hair. . . . 

And Bakawali danced and departed, Taj- 



74 Bakatvali. 

ulmuluk likewise returning even as he had 
come. . . . 

But when he told her, in the dawn of the morn- 
ing, that he had accompanied her in her voyage 
and had surprised her secret, Bakawali wept and 
trembled for fear. " Alas ! alas ! what hast thou 
done?" she sobbed; "thou hast become thine 
own greatest enem3\ Never canst thou know all 
that I have suffered for tii}' sake, — the maledic- 
tions of my kindred, the insults of all belonging 
to my race. Yet rather than turn awa}- m}' face 
from thy love, I suffered nightly the agonies of 
burning ; I have died a mj'riad deaths rather than 
lose thee. Thou hast seen it with thine own 
eyes ! . . . But none of mankind may visit unbid- 
den the dwelling of the gods and return with im- 
punity. Now, alas ! the evil hath been done ; 
nor can I devise any plan b}' which to avert thy 
danger, save that of bringing tliee again secretly 
to Armanagar and charming Indra in such wise 
that he ma^' pardon all.". . . 

* * 

So Bakawali the Apsara suffered once more the 

agony of fire, and danced before the gods, not only 

as she had danced before, but so that the e3'es 

of all beholding her became dim in watching the 



Bakawali. 75 

varying curves of her limbs, the dizzy speed of 
her white feet, the tossing light of her hair. And 
the charm of her beauty bewitched the tongues of 
all there, so that the cry, "O flower-body!" 
fainted into indistinguishable whispers, and the 
fingers of the musicians were numbed with lan- 
guor, and the music weakened tremblingly, quiv- 
eringly, dying down into an amorous swoon. 

And out of the great silence broke the soft 
thunder of Indra's pleased voice : " O Bakav/ali ! 
ask me for whatever thou wilt, and it shall be 
accorded thee. By the Trimurti, I swear! ". . . 
But she, kneeling before him, with bosom still 
fluttering from the dance, murmured: "I pray 
tliee, divine One, only that thou wilt allov*' me 
to depart hence, and dwell with this mortal whom 
I love during all the years of life allotted unto 
him." And she gazed upon the youth Taj- 
ulmaluk. 

But Indra, hearing these words, and looking 
also at Taj-ulmuluk, frowned so darkly that 
gloom filled all the courts of heaven. And he 
said: ''Thou, also, son of man, wouldst doubtless 
make the same prayer ; yet think not thou mayst 
take hence an Apsara like Bakawali to make her 
tliy wife without grief to thyself! And as for 
thee, O shameless Bakawali, thou mayst depart 



76 Bakawali. 

with him, indeed, since I have sworn ; but I swear 
also to thee that from th}' waist unto thy feet thou 
shalt remain a woman of marble for the space of 
twelve years. . . . Now let thy lover rejoice in 

thee ! '\ . . 

* 
* * 

. . . And Bakawali was placed in the chamber 
of a ruined pagoda, deep-buried within the forests 
of Ceylon ; and there did she pass the years, sit- 
thig upon a seat of stone, herself stone from feet 
to waist. But Taj-ulmuluk found her and minis- 
tered unto her as to the statue of a goddess ; and 
he waited for her through the long years. 

The ruined pavement, grass-disjointed, trem- 
bled to the passing tread of wild elephants ; often 
did tigers peer through the pillared entrance, with 
eyes flaming like emeralds ; but Taj-ulmuluk was 
never weary nor afraid, and he waited by her 
through all the weary and fearful 3'ears. 

Gem-ej'ed lizards clung and wondered ; serpents 
watched with marvellous chrysolite gaze ; vast 
spiders wove their silvered lace above the head 
of the human statue ; sunset-feathered birds, with 
huge and flesh-colored beaks, hatched their young 
in peace under the eyes of Bakawali. . . . Until 
it came to pass at the close of the eleventh 3'ear, 
— Taj-ulmuluk being in search of food, — that 



BakawalL 77 

the great rnin fell, burying the helpless Apsara 
under a ponderous and monstrous destruction be- 
3-ond the power of an}' single arm to remove. . . . 
Then Taj-ulmuluk wept ; but he still waited, 
knowing that the immortals could not die. 

And out of the shapeless mass of ruins there 
soon grew a marvellous tree, graceful, daint}', 
round-limbed like a woman ; and Taj-ulmuluk 
watched it waxing tall under the mighty heat of 
the summer, bearing flowers lovelier than that 
narcissus whose blossoms have been compared 
to the eyes of Oriental girls, and ros}' fruit as 
smooth-skinned as maiden flesh. 

So the twelfth year passed. And with the 
passing of its last moon, a great fruit parted 
itself, and therefrom issued the body of a woman, 
slender and exquisite, whose supple limbs had 
been folded up within the fruit as a butterfl}' is 
folded up within its chrysalis, comely as an In- 
dian dawn, deeper-eyed than ever woman of earth, 
— being indeed an immortal, being an Apsara, — 
Bakawali reincarnated for her lover, and relieved 
from the malediction of the gods. 



78 Natalika, 



NATALIKA. 

The sfori/ of a statue of sahle stone among the ruins of Tirou- 
I'icaroj/, ichirh are in the Land of Gokonda that was. . . . When 
the body shall have mouldered even as the trunk of a dead tree, 
shall have crumbled, to dust even as a clod of earth, the lovers of 
the dead will turn away their faces and depart ; but Virtue, re- 
jnaining faithful, icill lead the soul beyond, the darknesses. . . . 

The 3'ellow jungle-grasses are in the streets of 
the cit3' ; the hooded serpents are coiled about 
the marble legs of the gods. Bats suckle their 
young within the ears of the granite elephants ; 
and the hair}^ spider spins her web for ruby- 
throated humming-birds within the chambers of 
kings. The pythons breed within the sanctuaries, 
once ornate as the love-songs of Indian poets ; 
the diamond e3'es of the gods have been plucked 
out; lizards nestle in the lips of Siva ; the centi- 
pedes writhe among the friezes ; the droppings of 
birds whiten the altars. . . . But the sacred gate- 
way of a temple still stands, as though preserved 
by the holiness of its inscriptions: "The Self- 
existent is not of the universe. . . . Man ma}' not 
take with liim aught of his possessions beyond the 
grave ; let him increase the greatness of iiis good 



NataUka. 79 

deeds, even as the white ants do increase the 
height of their habitation. For neither father 
nor motlier, neither sister nor brother, neither 
son nor wife, may accompany him to the other 
world ; but Virtue only maj' be his comrade." . . . 
And these words, graven upon the stone, have 
survived the wreck of a thousand years. 

Kow, among the ])roken limbs of the gods, and 
the jungle grasses, and the monstrous creeping 
plants that seem striving to strangle the ele- 
phants of stone, a learned traveller wandering in 
recent 3'ears came upon the statue of a maiden, in 
black granite, marvellously wrought. Her figure 
was nude and supple as those of the women of 
Krishna ; on her head was the tiara of a princess, 
and from her joined hands escaped a cascade of 
flowers to fail upon the tablet su[)j)orting her ex- 
quisite feet And on the tablet was the name 
.NATALIKA ; and above it a verse from the 
holy Ramayana, which signifies, in our tongue, 
these words : — 

'^ . . J^^or I /lave been idtness of this marvel^ 
that h^j crushi}ig the floorers in her hands^ she 
'inade them to exhale a sweeter perfume.''^ 
* 

And this is the storv of Natalika, as it is 



80 Natalika. 

told in the chronicle of the Moslem historian 
Ferista : — 

More than a thousand 3'ears ago there was war 
between the Khahf Onaled and Dir-Rajah, of the 
Kingdom of Sindh. The Arab horsemen swept 
over the land like a t3'phoon ; and their eagle- 
visaged hordes reddened the rivers with blood, 
and made the nights crimson with the burning of 
cities. Brahmanabad thev consumed with fire, 
ai]d Alan and Dinal, making captives of the 
women, and putting all males to the edge of 
the scimitar. The Rajah fought stoutly for his 
people and for his gods ; but the Arabs prevailed, 
fearing nothing, remembering the words of the 
Prophet, that " Paradise may be found in the 
shadow of the crossing of swords." And at 
Brahmanabad, Kassim, the zealous lieutenant of 
the Khalif, captuj-ed the daughter of tlie Rajah, 
and slew the Rajah and all his people. 

* 

* * 

Her name Avas Natalika. When Kassim saw 
her, fairer than that Love-goddess born from a 
lotos-flower, her eyes softer than dew, her figure 
lithe as reeds, her blue-black tresses rippling to 
the golf] rings upon her ankles, — he swore b}' the 
Prophet's beard that she was the comeliest ever 
born of woman, and that none should have hei 



Natalika. 81 

save the Khalif Oualed. So he commanded that a 
troop of picked horsemen should take her to Bag- 
dad, with much costl}' boot}', — jewehy delicate 
and light as feathers, ivory carving miraculouslj" 
wrought (sculptured balls within sculptured balls), 
emeralds and turquoises, diamonds Tvud rubies, 
woofs of cashmere, and elephants, and dromeda- 
ries. And whosoever might do hurt to Natalika 
b}' the way, would have to pay for it with his 
head, as surely as the words of the Koran were 

the words of God's Prophet. 

* 
* * 

When Natalika came into the presence of the 
Khalif of Bagdad, the Commander of the Faithful 
could at first scarcely believe his e3'es, seeing so 
beautiful a maiden ; and starting from his throne 
without so much as looking at the elephants and 
the jewels and the slaves and the other gifts of 
Kassim, he raised the girl from her knees and 
kissed her in the presence of all the people, vow- 
ing that it rather behooved him to kneel before 
her than her to kneel before him. But she only 
we[)t, and answered not. . . . 

And before many days the Khalif bade her 

know that he desired to make her his favorite 

wife ; for since his e3-es had first belield her he 

could neither eat nor sleep for thnikiug of her. 

G 



82 Natalika, 

Therefore he prajed that she would cease her 
weeping, inasmuch as he would do more to make 
her happy than an}' other might do, save only the 
Prophet in his paradise. 

Then Katalika wept more bitterly than before, 
and vowed herself unworthy to be the bride of 
the Khalif, although herself a king's daughter; 
for Kassim had done her a grievous wrong ere 

sending her to Bagdad. . . . 

* 

* * 

Oualed heard the tale, and his mustaches curled 
with wrath. He sent his swiftest messengers 
to India with a sealed parchment containing or- 
ders that Kassim should Ic.ve the land of Sindh 
forthwith and hasten to Bassora, there to await 
further commands. Natalika shut herself up 
alone in her chamber to weep ; and the Khalif 
wondered that he could not comfort lier. But 
Kassim, leaving Sindh, wondered much more why 
the Commander of the P\aithful should have re- 
called him, notwithstanding the beauty of the 
gifts, the loveliness of the captives, the splendor 
of the elephants. Still marvelhng, he rode into 
Bassora, and sought the governor of that place. 
Even wliile he was complaining there came forth 
mutes with bow-strings, and they strangled Kassim 
at the governor's feet. 

* * 



NataUka, 83 

Days went and came ; and at last there rode 
into Bagdad a troop of fierce horsemen, to the 
Khalif's palace. Their leader, advancing into 
')iialcd's iiresence, saluted liiin, and laid at his 
feet a ghastly head with blood-bedabbled beard, 

the head of the great captain, Kassim. 

* 

' Lo ! '' cried Onaled to Natahka, "I have 
avenged thy wrong ; and now, I trust, thou wilt 
believe that T love thee, and tru\y desire to set 
thee over my household as my wife, my queen, 
my sweetly beloved ! " 

Bui Natalika commenced to laugh with a wild 
and terrible laugh..' "Know, O deluded one," 
she cried, " that Kassim was whoU}' innocent in 
that whereof I accused him, and that I sought 
only to avenge the death of my peo[>le, the mur- 
der of my brothers and sisters, the pillage of our 
homes, the sacrilegious destruction of the hoi}' 
city Brahmanabad. Never shall I, the daughter 
of a Kshatrya king, all}' myself with one of thy 
blood and creed. I have lived so long onl}' that 
T might be avenged ; and now that I am doubl}' 
avenged, by the death of our enemy, by th}' hope- 
less dream of love for me, I die ! " Piercing her 
bosom with a poniard, she fell at the Khalif 's feet. 



84 Natalika. 

But Nfitalika's betrothed lover, Oda3'ah-Rajali , 
avenged her even more, driving the circumcised 
conquerors from the hind, and slauglitcring all 
who fell into his hands. And the cruelties they 
had wrought he repaid them a hundred-fold. 

Yet, growing wearj^ of life b3' reason of Nata- 
lika's death, he would not reign upon the throne 
to which he had hoped to lift her in the embrace 
of lov^e ; but, retiring from the world, he be- 
came a hoU' mendicant of the temple of Tirou- 
vicara}'. ... 

And at last, feeling his end near, he dug him- 
self a little grave under the walls of the temple ; 
and ordered the most skilful sculptors to make 
the marble statue of his beloved, and that the 
statue should be placed upon his grave. Thus 
the}' wrought Natalika's statue as the statues o^ 
goddesses are wrought, but always according to 
his command, so that she seemcth to be crushing 
roses in her fingers. And when Odayah-Rajah 
passed awa}', they placed the statue of Natalika 
above him, so that her feet rest upon his heart. 

"/ have been loitness of this marvel^ that by 
crushiyig the flowers within her hands she made 
them to exhale a sweeter perfume 1 " 

Were not those flowers the blossoming of her 



The Corpse-Demon. 85 

beautiful youth, made lovelier by its own sacri- 
fice? 

The temple and its ten thousand priests are 
gone. But even after the lapse of a thousand 
years a. perfume still exhales from those roses 
of stone ! 



THE CORPSE-DEMON. 

There is a hook ivritfen in the ancient tonrjue of India, and 
called Vetalapantchavinsati, signifi/ing " The Twenty-fire 
Tales of a Demon.". . . And these tales are marvellous above all 
stories told bj m n ; for ivondroiis are the irords of Demons, and 
everlasting. . . . Now this Demon dwrlt within a corpse, and spake 
ivith the toni/ne of the corpse, and gazed with the eyes of the corpse. 
And the corpse icas suspended by its feet from a tree overshadow- 
ing tombs. . . . 

Now on the foitrtemth of the moonless half of the month Bhadon, 
the Kshatrya king Vikramadirya was commanded by a desig)iing 
Yogi that he .should cut down the corpse and bring the same to 
hnn. For the Yogi thus designed to destroy the king in the 
night. . . . 

And when the king cut doicn the corpse, the Demon which was 
in the corpse laughed and .said: '' If thou shouldst speak once 
upon the way, 1 go not ivith thee, but return unto my tree." 
Then the Demon began to tell to the king stories so strange that 
he could not but listen. And at the end of each story the De- 
mon would ask hard questions, threatening to devour Vikrama- 
ditya should he not answer; and the king, righdy answering. 



86 The Corpso-Demon, 

indeed avoided dcstrucfion, yet, hy speaking, perforce enabled the 
Demon to return to the tree. . . . Now listen to one of those tales 
which the Demon told : — 

O KING, there once was a cit}' called Dliavmpur, 
whose rajah Dharmshil built a glorious temple to 
Devi, the goddess with a thousand shapes and a 
thousand names. In marble was the statue ol 
the goddess wrought, so that she appeared seated 
cross-legged upon the cup of a monstrous lotos, 
two of lier four hands being joined in prayer, and 
the otlier two uplifting on eitlier side of her foun- 
tain basins, in each of which stood an elepliant 
spouting perfumed spray. And there was exceed- 
ing great devotion at this temple ; and the people 
never wearied of presenting to tlie goddess sandal- 
wood, unbroken rice, consecrated food, flowers, 
and lamps burning odorous oil. 

Now from a certain city tliere came one day in 
pilgrimage to Devi's temple, a washerman and a 
friend with him. Even as he was ascending the 
steps of the temple, he beheld a damsel descend- 
ing toward him, unrobed above the hips, after 
the fashion of her people. -Sweet as the moon 
was her face ; her hair was like a beautiful dark 
cloud ; her eyes were liquid and large as a wild 
deer's ; her brows were arched like bows well 
bent ; her delicate nose was curved like a falcon's 



The Corpse-Demon, 87 

beak ; her neck was cornel}- as a dove's ; her 
teeth were hke pomegranate seeds ; her hps 
ruddy as the crimson gourd ; her hands and feet 
soft as lotos-leaves. Golden-yellow was her skin, 
like the petals of the cham pa-flowers ; and the 
pilgrim saw that she was graceful-waisted as a 
leopard. And while the tinkling of the gold rings 
about her round ankles receded beyond his hear- 
ing, his sight became dim for^ love, and he prayed 
his friend to discover for him who the maiden 
might be. . . . Now she was the daughter of a 
w^asherman. 

Then did the pilgrim enter into the presence 
of the goddess, having his mind filled wholl}- l\y 
the vision of that girl ; and prostrating himself 
he vowed a strange vow, saying : " O Devi, Maha- 
devi, — Mother of Gods and Monster-slayer, — 
before whom all the divinities bow down, thou 
hast delivered the earth from its burdens ! thou 
hast delivered those that worshipped thee from 
a thousand misfortunes ! Now I pray thee, O 
Mother Devi, that thou wilt be my helper also, 
and fulfil the desire of my heart. And if by th}' 
favor I be enabled to marry that loveliest of wo- 
men, O Devi, verily I will make a sacrifice of 
my own head to thee," Such was the vow which 
he vowed. 



88 The Corpse-Demon, 

But having returned unto his city and to his 
home, the torment of being separated from his 
beloved so wrought upon him that he became 
grievous!}' sick, knowing neither sleep nor hun- 
ger nor thirst, inasmuch as love causes men to 
forget all these things. And it seemed that he 
might shortly die. Then, indeed, his friend, 
being alarmed, went to the father of the 3'outh, 
and told him all, so that the father also be- 
came fearful for his son. Therefore, accompa- 
nied by his son's friend, he went to that cit}', 
and sought out the father of the girl, and said 
to him : '' Lo ! I am of thy caste and calling, and 
I have a favor to ask of thee. It has come to 
pass that my son is so enamored of thy daughter 
that unless she be wedded to him he will surely- 
die. Give me, therefore, the hand of thy daugh- 
ter for my dear son." And the other was not at 
all displeased at these words ; but, sending for a 
Brahman, he decided upon a da^' of good omen 
for the marriage to be celebrated. And he said : 
"Friend, bring th}' son hither. I shall rub her 
hands with turmeric, that all men may know she 
is betrothed." 

Thus was the marriage arranged ; and in due 
time the father of the youth came with his son to 
the city ; and after the ceremony had been ful- 



The Corpse-Demon. 89 

filled, he returned to his own people with his son 
and his daughter-in-law. Now the love these 
yonng people held each for the other waxed 
greater da}' by da}' ; and there was no shadow 
on the young man's happiness saving the mem- 
ory of his vow. But his wife so caressed and 
fondled him that at last the recollection of the 
oath faded utterl}' away. 

After many days it happened that the husband 
and wife were both invited to a feast at Dharm- 
pur ; and the}' went tiiither with the friend who 
had before accompanied the youth npon his pil- 
grimage. Even as they neared the city, they saw 
from afar off the peaked and gilded summits of 
Devi's temple. Then the remembrance of his 
oath came back with great anguish to that young 
husband. " Verily," he tliought within his heart, 
** I am most shameless and wicked among all 
perjurers, having been false in my vow even to 
Devi, Mother of Gods ! " 

And he said to his friend: " I pray thee, re- 
main thou here with my wife while I go to pros- 
trate myself before Devi." So he departed to the 
temple, and bathed himself in the sacred pool, and 
bowed himself before the statue with joined hands. 
And having performed the rites ordained, he struck 
himself with a sword a mighty blow upon his 



90 The Corpse-Demon. 

neck, so that his head, being separated from his 
body, rolled even to the pillared stem of the mar- 
ble lotos upon which Devi sat. 

Now after the wife and the dead man's friend 
had long waited vainl}', the friend said: " Surely 
he hath been gone a great time ; remain thou here 
while I go to bring him back ! " So he went to 
the temple, and entering it beheld his friend's 
bod}' lying in blood, and the severed head be- 
neath the feet of Devi. And he said to his own 
heart : " Veril}' this world is hard to live in ! . . . 
Should I now return, the people would sa}' that 
I had murdered this man for the sake of his wife's 
exceeding beaut}'." Therefore he likewise bathed 
in the sacred pool, and performed the rites pre- 
scribed, and smote himself upon the neck so that 
his bead also was severed from his bodj' and rolled 
in like manner unto Devi's feet. 

Now, after the 3'oung wife had waited in vain 
alone for a long while, she became much tor- 
mented by fear for her husband's sake, and went 
also to the temple. And when she beheld the 
corpses and the reeking swords, she wept with 
unspeakable anguish, and said to her own heart : 
" Surely this world is hard to hve in at best ; and 
what is life now worth to me without m}' hus- 
ba*id? Moreover, people will say that I, being 



The Corpse-Demon. 91 

a wicked woman, murdered them both, in order 
to live wickedh' without restraint. Let me there- 
fore also make a sacrifice ! ". . . 

Saj'ing these words, she departed to the sacred 
pool and bathed therein, and, having performed 
the holy rites, lifted a sword to her own smooth 
throat that she might sla}' herself. But even as 
she lifted the sword a mighty hand of marble 
stayed her arm ; while the deep pavement quiv- 
ered to the tread of Devi's feet. For the Mother 
of Gods had arisen, and descended from her lotos 
seat, and stood beside her. And a divine voice 
issued from the grim lips of stone, saying, "O 
daugliter ! dear hast thou made thyself to me ! ask 
now a boon of Devi ! " But she answered, all- 
tremblingl}', " Divinest Mother, I pray only that 
these men maj^be restored to life." Then said the 
goddess, " Put their heads upon their bodies." 

And the beautiful wife sought to do according 
to the divine command ; but love and hope and 
the fear of Devi made dizzj' her brain, so that she 
placed her husband's head upon the friend's neck, 
and the head of the fiiend upon the neck of her 
husband. And the goddess sprinkled the bodies 
with the nectar of immortalit}', and they stood up, 
alive and well, indeed, yet with heads wonderfully 
exchanged. 

» 



92 The Corpse-Demon, 

Then said the Demon : " King Vtkraniaditija ! 1o ichich of 
these two was she wife ? Verili/, if (hi>a dost not ri(/htlij answer, 
I shall devour thee." And Vikramaditi/a answered: " Listi-n ! 
in the holj Shastra it is said that as the Ganges is chief among 
rivers, and Sunieru chief among mountains, and the Tree of 
Paradise chief among trees, so is the head chief among the parts 
of the hodij. Therefore she ivas the wife of that one to whose 
bodij her husband's head was joined.". . . Having ansivered 
rightly, the king suffered no hurt ; but inasmuch as he had 
spoken, it was permitted the corpse-demon to return to the tree, 
and hang suspended therefrom cdiove the tombs. 

. . . And mang times, in like manner, was the Demon enabled 
to return to the tree ; and even so nianij times did Vikramadilaya 
take down and bind and bear away the Demon ; and each time 
the Demon would relate to the king a story so wild_ so ivonderful, 
that he could not choose but hear. . . . Now this is another ef those 
tales ivhich the Demon told : — 

O king, in the city of Dharmasthal there lived 
a Brahman, called Kesav ; and his daughter, who 
was beautiful as an Apsara, had rightl}^ been 
named Sweet Jasmine-Flower, Madhuraalati. And 
so soon as she was nubile, her father and her 
mother and her brothers were all greatlj^ anxious 
to find her a worthy husband. 

Now one day the father and the brother and 
the mother of the girl each promised her hand 
to a different suitor. For the good Kesav, while 
absent upon a holy visit, met a certain Brahman 
youth, who so pleased him that Kesav promised 



The Corpse-Demon, 03 

him Madliiimalati ; and even the same day, the 
brother, who was a student of the Shastras, mot 
at the house of his spiritual teacher another stu- 
dent who so pleased him that he promised him 
Madhumalati ; and in the mean time there visited 
Kesav's home another young Brahman, who so 
delighted the mother that she promised him Mad- 
humalati. And the three youths thus betrothed 
to the girl were all equal in beauty, in strength, 
in accomplishments, and even in years, so that 
it would not have been possible to have preferred 
any one of them above the rest. Thus, when the 
father returned home, he found the three youths 
there before him ; and he was greatly troubled 
upon learning all that had taken place. " Verily," 
he exclaimed, ''there is but one girl and three 
bridegrooms, and to all of the three has our word 
been pledged ; to whom shall I give Madhuma- 
lati ? " And he knew not wdiat to do. 

But even as he w^as thinking, and gazing from 
one to the other of the three 3'outlis, a hooded 
serpent bit the girl, so that she died. 

Forthwith the father sent out for magicians and 
holy men, that they might give back life to his 
daughter ; and the holy men came together with 
the magicians. But the enchanters said that, b}^ 
reason of the period of the moon, it was not pos- 



94 The Corpse-Demon, 

sible for them to do anght ; and the hoi}' men 
avowed that even Brahma himself could not re- 
store life to one bitten by a serpent. With sore 
lamentation, accordingly, the Brahman performed 
the funeral rites ; and a pyre was built, and the 
body of Madhnmalati consumed thereupon. 

Now those three 3'ouths had beheld the girl in 
her living beaut}', and ail of them had been madl}' 
enamoured of her ; and each one, because he had 
loved and lost her, resolved thenceforth to aban- 
don the -world and forego all pleasure in this life. 
All visited the funeral p3're ; and one of them 
gathered np all the girl's bones while they were 
yet warm from the flame, and tied them within a 
bag, and then went his way to become a fakir. 
Another collected the ashes of her bod}', and took 
them with him into the recesses of a forest, where 
he built a hut and began to live alone with the 
memor}' of her. The last indeed took no rehc of 
Madhnmalati, but, having prayed a pra^'er, as- 
sumed the garb of a Yogi, and departed to beg 
his way through the world. Now his name was 
Madhusudam. 

Long after these things had happened, Madhu- 
sudam one day entered the house of a Brahman, 
to beg for alms ; and the Brahman invited him to 
partake of the family repast. So Madhusudam, 



The Corpse-Demon. 95 

having washed his hands and his feet, sate him 
down to eat beside the Brahman ; and the Brah- 
man's wife waited upon them. Now it came to 
pass, when the meal was still but half served, that 
the Brahman's little boy asked for food ; and 
being bidden to wait, he clung to the skirt of his 
mother's dress, so that she was hindered in her 
duties of hospitalitj'. Becoming angiy, therefore, 
she seized her boy, and threw him into the fire- 
place where a great fire was ; and the boy was 
burned to ashes in a moment. But the Brahman 
continued to eat as if nothing had happened ; and 
his wife continued to serve the repast with a 
kindh' smile upon her countenance. 

And being horror-stricken at these sights, Mad- 
husudam arose from his sitting-place, leaving his 
meal unfinished, and directed his way toward the 
door. Then the Brahman kindly questioned him, 
saying: " O friend, how comes it that thou dost 
not eat? Surel}' both I and my wife have done 
what we could to please thee ! " 

And Madhusudam, astonished and wroth, an- 
swered : " How dost thou dare ask me why I do 
not eat? how might any being, excepting a Rak- 
shasa, eat in the house of one by whom such a 
demon-deed hath been committed?" But the 
Brahman smiled, and rose up and went to another 



96 The Corpse-Demon, 

part of the house, and returned speedih' witli a 
book of hicantations, — a book of the science of 
resurrection. And he read but one incantation 
therefrom, when, lo ! the boy that had been burned 
came aUve and unscorched from the fire, and ran 
to his mother, crying and chnging to her dress as 
before. 

Then Madhusudam thought within himself: 
" Had I that wondrous book, how readily might 
I restore ray beloved to life ! " And he sat down 
again, and, having finished his repast, remained 
in that house as a guest. But in the middle of 
the night he arose stealthih', and purloined the 
magical book, and fled away to his own city. 

And after many da3'S he went upon a pil- 
grimage of love to the place where the body of 
Madhumalati had been burned (for it was the 
anniversary of her death) , and arriving he found 
that the other two who had been betrothed to her 
were also there before him. And lifting up their 
voices, tlie\^ cried out: *' O Madhusudam! thou 
hast been gone many 3'ears and hast seen much. 
What hast thou learned of science ? " 

But he answered: "I have learned the sci- 
ence that restores the dead to life." Then thej' 
prayed him, saying, "Revive thou Madhuma- 
lati ! " And he told them : " Gather ye her bones 



The Corpse-Demon, 97 

together, and her ashes, and I will give her 
life." 

And tho}' having so done, Madhnsndam pro- 
duced ttie book and read a charm therefrom ; and 
the heap of ashes and cindered bones shaped 
itself to tlie command, and changed color, and 
lived, and became a beautifnl woman, sweet as 
a jasmine-flower, — Madhumalati even as she was 
before the snake had bitten her ! 

But the three youths, beholding her smile, 
were blinded by love, so that they began to 
wrangle fiercely together for the sake of 
her. . . . 

Then the Denton said : " Vikramaditaya ' to tch'ich of these, 
was she wife 1 Answer ri'jhtly, lest I devour thee.'* 

And the Ic'inj answered: " Truly she icas the icife of hhn icho 
had collected her ashes, and taken them with him into the recesses 
of the forest, where he built a hut and dwelt alone with the memori/ 
of her." 

" Naij!" said the Demon, "how could she have been restored 
to Ife had not the other also preserved her bo7\es ? and despite the 
piety of those two, how could she have been resurrected but fur the 
third?" 

But the kitirj replied : '* Even as the son's duty is to preserve 
the bones of his parents, so did he ivho jireserved the bones of- 
Madhumalati stand to her only in the place of a son. Even as 
a father fpveth life, so did he icho reanimated Madhumalati stand 
to her only in the place of a father. But he icho collected her 
ashes and took them with him into the recesses of the forest, ichere 
7 



98 The Corpse-Demon, 

he built a hut and dwelt alone with the memory of her, he was 
truly her lover and rightfid husband." 

. . . Many other hard questions the Demon also ashed, concern- 
ing men who by magic turned themselves into women, and con- 
cei'ning corpses animated by evil spirits; but the king ansu:ered 
all of them save one, which indeed admitted oj no answer : — 

O Vikramaditaya, when Maliahal was rajah of 
Dliarmpur, another monarch strove against hhn, 
and destroyed his arm}' in a great battle, and 
slew him. And the wife and daughter of the 
dead king fled to the forest for safet}', and wan- 
dered tliere alone. At that time the rajah Chan- 
drasen was hunting in the forest, and his son 
with him ; and they beheld the prints of women's 
feet upon the ground. Then said Chandrasen : 
" Surely the feet of those who have passed here 
are delicate and beautiful, like those of women ; 
vet I mai'vel exceedingl}' that there should be 
women in this desolate place. Let us pursue 
after them ; and if they be beautiful, I shall take 
to wife her whose feet have made the smallest 
of these tracks, and thou shalt wed the other." 

So they came up with the women, and were 
much cli armed with their beauty ; and the rajah 
Chandrasen mari'ied the daughter of the dead 
Mahabel, and Chandrasen's son took Mahabel's 



The Lion, 99 

widow to wife. So that the father married the 
daughter of the mother, and the son the mother 
of the daughter. . . . 

And the Demon asked : " YikravmdiUiya, in what manner 
tcere the children of Chandrasen and his son related bi/ these mar- 
riai/es ? " But the king could not ansiver. And because he re- 
mained silent the Demon iras pleased, and bffriended him in a 
stranrje and unexpected manner, as it is icritten in the Vetala- 

rANTCHAVINSATI. 



THE LION. 

Intelligence is bitter than much learning ; intelligence is better 
than science ; the man that hath not intelligence shall perish like 
those iclio made unto themselces a lion. . . . And this is the sinrij 
of the lion, as related bi/ the holt/ Brahman Vichitousarman in the 

pANTCHOrAKIIYANA. 

In da3's of old there were four youths of the 
Brahman caste, — brothers, who loved each other 
with strong affection, and had resolved to travel 
all together into a neighboring eniph-e to seek 
fortune and fame. 

Of these four bi'others three had deeply studied 
all sciences, knowing magic, astronomy-, alchem}', 
and occult arts most difficult* to learn ; while the 



100 The Lion, 

fourth had no knowledge whatever of science, 
possessing intelligence onh*. 

Now, as the}' were travelling together, one of 
tlie learned brothers observed: "Why should a 
brother without knowledge obtain profit bj' our 
wisdom? Travelling with us he can be only a 
burden upon us. Never will he be able to obtain 
the respect of kings, and therefore must he remain 
a disgrace to us. Rather let him return home." 

But the eldest of all answered : " Nay ! let him 
share our good luck ; for he is our loving brother, 
and we may perhaps find some position for him 
■which he can fill without being a disgrace to us." 

So thej' journeyed along; and after a time, 
while passing through a forest, they beheld the 
bones of a lion scattered on the path. These 
bones were wdiite as milk and hard as flint, so 
dr3' and so bleached they were. 

Then said he who had first condemned the ig- 
norance of his brother: "Let us now show our 
brother what science ma}' accomplish ; let us put 
his ignorance to shame b}' giving life to these 
lion-bones, and creating another lion from them ! 
By a few magical w^ords I can summon the dry 
bones together, making each fit into its place." 
Therewith he spake the w^ords, so that the dry 
bones came together with a clattering sound, — 



The Lion, 101 

each fitting to its socket, — and the skeleton re- 
jointed itself together. 

"I," quoth the second brother, " can b}' a few 
words spread tendons over the bones, — each in 
its first place, — and thicken them with muscle, 
and redden them with blood, and create the hu- 
mors, the veins, the glands, the marrow, the 
internal organs, and the exterior skin." There- 
with he spake the words ; and the bod}' of the 
lion appeared upon the ground at their feet, 
perfect, shagg}', huge. 

" And I," said the third brother, " can bj' one 
word give warmth to the blood and motion to the 
heart, so that the animal shall live and breathe 
and devour beasts. And ye shall hear him roar." 

But ere he could utter the word, the fourth 
brother, who knew nothing about science, placed 
his hand over his mouth. " Na}- ! " he cried, " do 
not utter the word. That is a lion ! If thou 
givest him life, he will devour us." 

But the others laughed him to scorn, saying t 
*' Go home, thou fool ! what dost thou know of 
science? " 

Then he answered them : " At least, delay the 
making of the lion until thy brother can climb up 
this tree." Which the}' did. 

But hardly had he ascended the tree when the 



102 The Legend of the Monster Misfortune, 

word was spoken, and the lion moved and opened 
bis great yellow e3'es. Then he stretched him- 
self, and arose, and roared. Then he turned 
upon the three wise men, and slew them, and 
devoured them. 

But after the lion had departed, the 3-outh who 
knew nothing of science descended from the tree 
unharmed, and returned to his home. 



THE LEGEND OF THE MONSTER 
MISFORTUNE. 

He thai halh n hundred desiretk a thousand ; he that hath a 
thousand icould have a hundred thousa))d ; he that hath a hun- 
dred thousand longeth for the kingdom ; he that hath a kingdom 
doth wish to possess the heathens. And being Jed astray by 
cupidity, eren the owners of riches and 7visdom do those things 
which shoxdd never be done, and seek afler that ivhich ought never 
to be sought after. . . . Wherffore there hath been written, for the 
he.nejit 0/ those who do nourish their own evil passions, this legend 
taken from the forty Sixth book 0/ the Fa-youen-tchou-lin. 

In those ages when the sun shone brighter than 
in these 3'ears, when the perfumes of flowers were 
sweeter, when the colors of the world were fairer 
to behold, and gods were wont to walk upon earth, 



The Legend of the Monster Misfortune, 103 

tliere was a certain happy kingdom wherein no 
miser}^ was. Of gems and of gold there was su- 
perabundance ; the harvests were inexhaustible 
as ocean ; the cities more populous than ant-hills. 
So many years had passed without war that plants 
gi'ew upon the walls of the great towns, disjoint- 
ing the rampart-stones b3' the snaky strength of 
their roots. And through all that land there was 
a murmur of music constant as the flow of the 
Yellow River ; sleep alone interrupted the pur- 
suit of pleasure, and even the dreams of sleepers 
were never darkened by imaginarj^ woe. For 
there was no sickness and no want of any sort, 
so that each man lived his century of years, and 
dying laid him down painless]}', as one seeking 
repose after pleasure, — the calm of slumber after 
the intoxication of jo}'. 

* * 
One day the king of that country called all his 
counsellors and ministers and chief mandarins 
together, and questioned them, saying : " Behold ! 
I have read in certain ancient annals which are 
kept within our chief temple, these words : ''In 
days of old MUfortune visited the land J Is 
there among j'ou one who can tell me what man- 
ner of creature Misfortune is? Unto what may 
Misfortune be likened?" 



104 The Legend of the Moyistcr Misfortune, 

Bot all the counsellors and the ministers and 
the mandarins answered : " O king, we have never 
beheld it, nor can we say what manner of creature 
it ma}' be." 

Thereupon the king ordered one of his minis- 
ters to visit all the lesser kingdoms, and to in- 
quire what manner of creature Misfortune might 
be, and to purchr.se it at ■£.x\y price, — if indeed 
it could be bought, — though the price should be 
the value of a province. 

Now there was a certain god, who, seeing and 
hearing these things, forthwith assumed the fig- 
ure of a man, and went to the greatest market of 
a neighboring kingdom, taking wdth him Misfor- 
tune, chained with a chain of iron. And the form 
of Misfortune w^as the form of a gigantic sow. 
So the minister, visiting that foreign market, ob- 
served the creature, which was made fast to a pillar 
there, and asked the god what animal it was. 

*'It is called the female of Misfortune," quoth 
the god. 

''Is it for sale?" questioned the minister. 

"Assuredly," answered the god. 

"And the price?" 

"A million pieces of gold." 

" What is its daily food ? " 

" One bushel measure of needles." 



The Legend of the Monster Misfortune, 105 

Having paid for the beast a million pieces of 
good 3'ellow gold, the minister was perforce com- 
pelled to procure food for it. So he sent out 
runners to all the markets, and to the shops of 
tailors and of weavers, and to all the mandarins 
of all districts within the kingdom, to procure 
needles. This caused much tribulation in the 
land, not onl}' b}^ reason of the scarcit}' of nee- 
dles, but also because of the affliction to which 
the people were subjected. For those who had 
not needles were beaten with bamboos ; and the 
mandarins, desiring to obey the behest of the 
king's minister, exercised much severity. The 
tailors and others who lived b}' their needles soon 
found themselves in a miserable plight ; and the 
ncedlemakers, toil as they would, could never 
make enough to satisfy' the hunger of the beast, 
fdthongh many died because of overwork. And 
the price of a needle - became as the price of 
emeralds and diamonds, and the rich gave all 
their substance to procure food for this beast, 
whose mouth, like the mouth of hell, could not 
be satisfied. Then the people in many parts, 
made desperate by hunger and the severity of 
the mandarins, rose in revolt, provoking a war 
which caused the destruction of man}' tens of 
thousands. The rivers ran with blood," yet the 



106 The Legend of the Monster Misfortune. 

minister could not bring the beast to the palace 
for lack of needles wlierewith to feed it. 

Therefore he wrote at last to the king, saying : 
" I have indeed been able to find and to buy 
the female of Misfortune ; but the male I have 
not been able to obtain, nor, with 3'our Majesty's 
permission, will 1 seek for it. Lo ! the female 
hath already devoured the substance of this Jand ; 
and I dare not attempt to bring such a monster 
to tlie palace. I pray your Majest3' tlierefore that 
your Majesty graciously accord me leave to de- 
stroy this hideous beast ; and I trust that ^-our 
Majesty will bear in mind the saying of the wise 
men of India : ' JEven a King luho icill 7iot 
hearhen to admce should be adoised by faith- 
fid counsellors.'' " 

Then tlie king, being already alarmed b}^ noise 
of the famine and of the revolution, ordered that 

the beast should be destroyed. 

* 
* * 

Accordingly, the female of Misfortune was led 
to a desolate place without the village, and chained 
fast wdth chains of iron ; and the minister com- 
manded the butchers to kill it. But so impene- 
trable was its skin that neither axe nor knife 
could wound it. Wherefore the soldiers were 
commanded to destroy it. But the arrows of 



The Legend of the Monster Misfortune. 107 

the archers flattened their steel pohits upon Mis- 
fortune, even when directed against its eyes, 
which were bright and hard as diamonds ; while 
swords and spears innumerable were shattered 
and broken in foolish efforts to kill it. 

Then the minister commanded a great fire to 
be built ; and the monster was l^ound within the 
fire, while quantities of pitch and of oil and of resin- 
ous woods were poured and piled upon the flame, 
until tlic fire became too hot for men to approach 
it within the distance of ten IL But the beast, 
instead of burning, first became red hot and then 
white hot, shining like the moon. Its chains 
melted like v/ax, so that it escaped at last and 
ran out among the people like a diagon of fire. 
Many were thus consumed ; and the beast entered 
the villages and destroyed them ; and still run- 
ning so swiftly that its heat increased with its 
course, it entered the capital city, and ran through 
it and over it upon the roofs, burning up even the 
king in his palace. 

Thus, by the folly of that king, was the king- 
dom utterly wasted and destroyed, so that it 
became a desert, inhabited only by lizards and 
serpents and demons. . . . 

Note. — This and the following fable belong to the 
purious collection translated by M. Stanislas Julien fiom 



108 A Parable Buddhistic, 

a Chinese encyclopaedia, and published at Paris in 1860, un- 
der the title, "Les Avadanas," — or "The Similitudes," — 
a Sanscrit term corresponding to the Chinese Pi-yit, and 
justified by the origin of the stories, translated by the Chi- 
nese themselves, or at least reconstructed, from old Sanscrit 
texts. I have ventured, however, to accentuate the slightly 
Chinese coloring of the above grotesque parable. — L. H. 



A PARABLE BUDDHISTIC. 

. . . Like to earthen vessels ivrour/ht in a potter's miV, so are the 
lives of men ; howsoever carefuUi; formed, all are doomed to de- 
struction. Nought that exists shall endure ; life is as the waters 
of a river that flow awaij, but never return. Therefore maij hap- 
piness onlji he obtained by concealing the Six Appetites, as the 
tortoise withdraws its six extremities into its shell; bij guarding 
the thoughts from desire and from grief, even as the citij is 
guarded bij its ditches and its icalls. . . . 

So spoke in gathas Sak^-a-Mouni. And this 
parable, doubtless b}' him nari-ated of old, and 
translated from a lost Indian manuscript into the 
Chinese tongue, may be found in the fift^'-first 
book of the ^' Fa-youen-tchou-lin." 

... A father and his son were laboring to- 
gether in the field during the season of serpents, 
and a hooded so^pent bit the young man, so that 



A Parable Buddhistic, 109 

he presenth' died. For there is no remed}' known 
to man which maj' annul the venom of the hooded 
snake, filHng the e3'es with sudden darkness and 
stilhng the motion of the heart. But the father, 
seeing his son lying dead, and the ants commenc- 
ing to gather, returned to his work and ceased 
not placidly to labor as before. 

Then a Brahman passing that way, seeing what 
had happened, wondered that the father continued 
to toil, and yet more at observing that his eyes 
were tearless. Therefore he questioned him, 
asking: "Whose son was that youth who is 
dead?" 

" He was mine own son," returned the laborer, 
ceasing not to labor. 

" Yet, being thy son, how do I find thee tearless 
and impassive? " 

" Folly ! " answered the laborer ; — " even the 
instant that a man is born into the world, so 
soon doth he make his first step in the direction 
of death ; and the ripeness of his strength is also 
the beginning of its decline. For the well-doing 
there is indeed a recompense ; for the wicked 
there is Ukewise punishment. What avail, there- 
fore, tears and grief ? in no wise can they serve 
the dead. . . . Perchance, good Brahman, thou art 
on thy way to the city. If so, I pray thee to pass 



110 A Parable Buddhistic. 

by my house, and to tell nij- wife that my son is 
dead, so that she may send hither my noonday 
repast." 

"Ah! what manner of man is this?" thought 
the Brahman to himself. " His son is dead, yet 
he does not weep ; the corpse lies under the sun, 
yet he ceases not to labor ; the ants gather about 
it, yet he coldly demands liis noonday meal ! 
Surely there is no compassion, no human feehng, 
within his entrails ! " These things the Brahman 
thought to himself; yet, being stirred by curi- 
osity, he proceeded none the less to the house of 
the laborer, and beholding the mother said unto 
her: "Woman, thy son is dead, having been 
stricken by a hooded snake ; and thy tearless hus- 
band bade me tell thee to send him his noonday 
repast. . . . And now I perceive thou art also 
insensible to the death of th}' son, for thou dost 
not weep ! " 

But the mother of the dead answered him with 
comparisons, saying: " Sir, that son had indeed 
received only a passing life from his parents : 
therefore I called him not my son. Now he hath 
passed Siway from me, nor was it in my feeble 
power to retain him. He was only as a traveller 
halting at a tavern ; the traveller rests and passes 
on ; shall the tavern-keeper restrain him ? Such 



A Parable Buddhistic. Ill 

is indeed the relation of mother and son. Whether 
the sou go or come, whether he remain or pass on, 
1 have no power over his being ; m}- son has ful- 
filled the destiu}' appointed, and from that destiny 
none could save him. Whj', therefore, lament 
that which is inevitable ? " 

And wondering still more, the Brahman turned 
unto the eldest sister of the dead youth, a maiden 
in the lotos bloom of her maidenhood, and asked 
her, saying: '^ Th}- brother is dead, and wilt thou 
not weep? " 

But the maiden also answered him with com- 
parisons, saying: "Sometimes a strong wood- 
man enters the forest of trees, and hews them 
down with miglity axe-strokes, and binds them 
together into a great raft, and launches the raft 
into the vast river. But a furious wind arises and 
excites the waves to dash the raft hither and 
thither, so that it breaks asunder, and the cur- 
rents separate the foremost logs from tliose be- 
hind, and all are whirled away never again to be 
united. Even such has been the fate of m}' young 
brother. We were bound together by destinj- in 
the one family* ; we have been separated forever. 
There is no fixed time of life or death ; whether 
our existence be long or short, w^e are united only 
for a period, to be separated foreverinore. My 



112 A Parable Buddhistic, 

brother lias ended his allotted career ; each of us 
is following a destiny that ma}' not be changed. 
To me it was not given to protect and to save 
him. Wherefore should I weep for that which 
could not be prevented ? " 

Then wondering still more, the Brahman ad- 
dressed himself to the beautiful wife of the dead 
3'outh, saying: "And thou, on whose bosom he 
slept, dost thou not weep for him, thy comely 
husband, cut off in the summer of his man- 
hood?" 

But she answered him also with comparisons, 
saying : " Even as two birds, flying one from the 
east and one from the south, meet and look into 
each other's eyes, and circle about each other, 
and seek the same summit of tree or temple, and 
sleep together until the dawn, so w^as our own 
fate. When the golden light breaks in the east, 
the two birds, leaving their temple perch or their 
tree, fly in opposite ways each to seek its food. 
They meet again if destiny wills ; if not, they 
never behold each other more. Such was the 
fate of my husband and myself ; when death 
sought him his destiny was accomplished, and it 
was not in my power to save him. Therefore, 
why should I weep ? " 

Then wondering more than ever, the Brahman 



PundarL 113 

questioned the slave of the dead man, asking 
him: " Th}^ master is dead ; wliy dost thou not 
weep ? " 

But the slave also answered liim with com- 
parisons, saying: " My master and I were united 
hy the will of destiny ; I was only as the little calf 
which follows tlie great bull. The great bull is 
slain : the little calf could not save him from the 
axe of the butcher ; its cries and bleatings could 
avail nothing. Wherefore should I weep, not 
knowing how soon indeed my own hour may 



come 



V" 



And the Brahman, silent with wonder, watched 
the slender figures of the women moving swiftly 
to and fro athwart the glow of golden light from 
without, preparing the noonday repast for the 
tearless laborer in the field. 



PUNDARI. 

A story of the Buddha, who filled with Ucjht the world,the soles 
of whose feet were like xinto the faces of tico blazing suns, for tJiat 
he trod in the Perfect Paths. 

... In those days Buddha was residing upon 
the summit of the mountain Gridhrakuta, over- 
8 



114 Pundari, 

looking that ancient and vanished city called 
Rajagriha, — then a glorious vision of white 
streets and fretted arcades, and milky palaces 
so mightily carven that they seemed light as 
woofs of Cashmere, delicate as frost ! There 
was the crj' of elephants heard ; there the air 
quivered with amorous music ; there the flowers 
of a thousand gardens exhaled incense to heaven, 
and there women sweeter than the flowers moved 
their braceleted ankles to the notes of harps and 
flutes. . . . But, above all, the summit of the moun- 
tain glowed with a glor}^ greater than da}', — with 
a vast and rosy light signalling the presence of 
the Buddha. 

Now in that cit}' dwelt a ba3'adere, most lovely 
among women, with whom in grace no other be- 
ing could compare ; and she had become weary 
of the dance and the jewels and the flowers, — 
wear}' of her corselets of crimson and golden silk, 
and her robes light as air, diaphanous as mist, 
— weary, also, of the princes who rode to her 
dwelling upon elephants, bearing her gifts of jew- 
els and perfumes and vessels strangely wrought 
in countries distant ten years' journe}'. And her 
heart whispered her to seek out Buddha, that she 
might obtain knowledge and rest, becoming even 
as a Bikshuni. 



PundarL 115 

Therefore, bidding farewell to the beautiful cit}', 
she began to ascend the hillj^ paths to where the 
great and ros}' glor}- beamed above. Fierce was 
the heat of the sun, and rough the dizz}^ paths ; and 
the thirst and weariness of deserts came upon her. 
So that, having but half ascended the mountain, 
she paused to drink and rest at a spring clear and 
bright like diamond, that had wrought a wondrous 
basin for itself in the heart of the rock. 

But as the ba3"adere bent above the fountain to 
drink, she beheld in its silver-bright mirror the 
black glor}' of her hair, and the lotos softness of 
her silk3'-shadowed eyes, and the rose-budding 
of her honej'-sweet mouth, and her complexion 
golden as sunlight, and the polished suppleness 
of her waist, and her slender limbs rounder than 
an elephant's trunk, and the gold-engirdled grace 
of her ankles. And a mist of tears gathered 
before her sight. " Shall I, indeed, cast away 
this beauty?" she murmured. "Shall I mask 
this loveliness, that hath allured rajahs and maha- 
rajahs, beneath the coarse garb of a recluse? 
Shall I behold my youth and grace fade away in 
solitude as dreams of the past? Wherefore, then, 
should I have been born so beautiful? Na^M let 
those without grace and without 3'outli abandon 
all to seek the Five Paths ! " And she turned 



116 Pundari, 

h3r face again toward the wliite-gHmmering Ra- 
jagriha, whence ascended the breath of flowers, 
and the Uqnid melod^^ of flutes, and the wanton 
laughter of dancing girls. ... 

But far above, in the rosiness, omniscient Bud- 
dha looked into her heart, and, pitying her weak- 
ness, changed himself b}' utterance of the Word 
into a girl far comelier and j'et more lissome than 
even Pundari the ba3'adere. So that Pundari, 
descending, suddenly and in much astonishment 
became aware of the lovehest of companions at 
her side, and asked : " O thou fairest one ! whence 
comest thou? Who may the kindred be of one 
so lovel}'?" 

And the sweet stranger answered, in tones 
softer than of flutes of gold: "I also, lovely 
one, am returning to the white city Rajagriha; 
let us journe}^ together, that we may comfort each 
other b}'' the wa}'." 

And Pundari answered : " Yea, O fairest maid- 
en ! thy beauty draws me to thee as the flower the 
bee, and thy heart must surely be precious as is 
thy incom pai'able face ! " 

So they journeyed on ; but the lovely stranger 
became weary at last, and Pundari, sitting down, 
made a pillow of her round knees for the dainty 
head, and kissed her comrade to sleep, and stroked 



Pundari. 117 

the silk}' magnificence of her hair, and fondled the 
ripe beaut}' of the golden ftice slumbering, and a 
great love for the stranger swelled ripening in her 
heart. 

Yet while she gazed the face upon her smooth 
knees changed, even as a golden fruit withers and 
wrinkles, so wizened became the curved cheeks : 
strange hollows darkened and deepened about the 
eyes ; the silky lashes vanished with their shad- 
ows ; the splendid hair whitened like the ashes of 
altar fires ; shrunken and shrivelled grew the lips ; 
toothless }awned the once rosy mouth ; and the 
bones of the face, made salient, fore-shaped the 
gibbering outlines of a skull. The perfume of 
youth was gone ; but there arose odors insuffer- 
able of death, and with them came the ghastly 
creeping things that death fattens, and the livid 
colors and blotches that his shadowy fijigers leave. 
And Pundari, shrieking, fled to the presence of 
Buddha, and related unto him the things which 
she had seen. 

And the World-honored comforted her, and 
spake : — 

" O Pundari, life is but as the fruit ; loveliness 
but as the flower ! Of what use is the fairest 
body that lieth rotting beside the flowings of the 
Ganges? Old age and death none of us may 



118 PundarL 

escape ; yet there are worse than these, — the 
new births which are to this life as the echo to 
the voice in tlie cavern, as the great footprints 
to the steps of the elephant. 

" From desire cometh woe ; b}' desire is begot- 
ten all evil. The bod}' itself is a creation of the 
mind on!}-, of the foolish thirst of the heart for 
pleasure. As the shadows of dreams are dissi- 
pated with the awakening of the sleeper, even 
so shall sorrow vanish and evil pass awa}' from 
the heart of whosoever shall learn to conquer de- 
sire and qnench the heart's thirst ; even so shall 
the body itself vanish for those who tread well in 
the Five Paths. 

"O Fundari, there is no burning greater than 
desire ; no joy like unto the destruction of the 
body ! Even as the white stork standing alone 
beside the dried-up lil3'-pool, so shall those be 
whose youth passes from them in the fierce heat 
of foolish passion ; and when the great change 
shall come, the}' will surely be born again unto 
foolishness and tears. 

*' Those onl}' who have found delight in the 
wilderness where others behold horror ; those 
who have extinguished all longings ; those self- 
made passionless b}' meditation on life and death, 
— only such do attain to happiness, and, prevent- 



Yamaraja, 119 

ing the second birth, enter into the blessedness 
of Nirvana,.". . . 

And the bayadere, cutting off her hair, and 
casting from her all gifts of trinkets and jewels, 
abandoned everj-thing to enter the Five Paths. 
And the Devas, rejoicing, made radiant tlie 
mountains above the white city, and filled the 
air with a rain of strange flowers. And whoso- 
ever would know more of Buddha, let him read 
the marvellous book " Fah-Kheu-King," — the 
Book " Dhammapada." 



YAMARAJA. 

The Legend Marjcjnvago ; or, " The Way" — ichich is in the 
marveUous book of I he Dhammapada. . . . A sfon/ofthe Buddha 
at whose birth the stars stopped in tlieir courses. . . . 

The Brahman's son was dead, — dead in the 
blossoming of his beautiful 3'onth, as the rose in 
whose heart a worm is born, as the lotos bud 
when the waters of the pool are cut off. For 
comeliness there was none like him, even among 
the children of the holiest caste ; nor were there 
any so deeply learned in the books of religion, in 
just reasoning regarding the Scriptures, in the 



120 Yamaraja, 

recitation of the slokas of singers divinel}^ in- 
spired. Thrice the aged priest fainted away 
upon tlie body of his son ; and as often as they 
wonld have led him to his home, he shrieked and 
fainted again, so that, at last, even while he lay 
as dead, they took the bodj' from his arms, and, 
having washed it with the waters of purification, 
wrapped it in perfumed linen, and laid it upon 
a bier decked with Indian flowers, and bore it 
awaj' to the place of interment. Tluis, when the 
unhappy father came to himself, all was accom- 
plished ; and the stern elders of his caste, gathering 
about him, so harshl}' reproved him for his grief 
that he was perforce compelled to reason with 
himself regarding the vanit}' of lamentation and 

the folly of human tears. 

* 
* * 

But not ceasing to meditate upon his great loss, 
a wild hope at last shaped itself within his heart. 
*' Lo ! " he thought, " I have heard it said that cer- 
tain might}- Brahmans, having acquired the Five 
Virtues, the Five Faculties, the Ten Forces, were 
enabled to converse face to face with Yamaraja, 
the Lord of Death! To me it hath not indeei 
been given, b}^ reason perchance of ni}^ feeble 
will, to obtain the supreme wisdom ; yet m}' love 
and faith are of the heart, and I will seek out 



Yamaraja, 121 

Yamaraja, King of Death, and pra\- him to give 
me back m}' son." Therefore the Bmhman, in- 
vesting himself witli sacerdotal vestments, per- 
formed the hoh' ceremonies ordained in the law ; 
and having offered the sacrifice of flowers and of 
incense, he departed to seek the Lord of Death, 
the Maharajah of vanished kingdoms, Yama. 
And he qnestioned all whom he met as to where 

Yama might be fonnd. 

* 

Some, opening astounded e3'es, answered him 
not at all, deeming him to be mad ; some there 
were that mocked him ; some counselled that he 
shonld retui'n home, lest he find Yama too speed- 
113- ! Kshatrya princes with jewel-hilted sabres 
answered him as they rode b}^ in glittering steel 
and glimmering gold: "Yama ma}' be found in 
the tempest of battles, beneath the bursting of 
arrow-clouds, amidst the lightning of swords, be- 
fore the armored ranks of the fighting elephants." 
Swarthy mariners replied, with rough laughter as 
of sea winds: "Thou ma3-st seek Yama in the 
roaring of waters and raving of typhoons ; let the 
spirit of storms answer thee ! " . . . And danc- 
ing girls, singing the burning hymn of Ourvasi, 
paused to answer with their witcherj' : "Seek 
Yama rather in our arms, upon our lips, upon 



oo 



Yttuhintjit 



our lu'.'irts : (^\bnlc thy soul iu m kiss," . . . 
And thov Inuiiiunl shrilh :is tho lu'lls oi' \\\c 
{c\\\\Ao oMvos lauiih wIumi [\w wiml lips tluir 
silver touiiuos. 



So ho u;uuloro<l on. bv tho bauks oi^ many 
rivors, uuvlor tho sh:nlo\viu>^ ot* many I'ily >vm11s, 
still sookinii", until ho onujo to thi* liroat wildoruoss 
holoNV tho mountains of tho oast, whiMo Awch tho 
most hv>ly. who h nl ohtainod supromo wisilom. 
Sor[>onts hoodovl liko mouilioants protiiulod tluMr 
l\>rkod touiiuos ; tho loopard thrust asulo tho Juu- 
Lilo li'rassos to ga/.o at hin» \vi(h oyos ol* i:,roou 
tlamo ; tho boa niovod boloro hiuu making" a 
wavinji" in tho tloop wootis as thi' wako ol' a boat 
upon walor. Uut iuasnuioh as ho souiiht Yama, 
ho oouM \\o\ foar. 

Tims ho oam,^ at last to whoro tho most holy oC 
l>rahmans dwelt, who hail obtaiuod supromo wis- 
ilom, nourishiuir thomsolvos upon tho porfuun^s 
ol' llowors vMily. Tho shadow ol' tho rvu-ks. tho 
shadows of tho primoxal troi^s, louiithonod and 
shortonod and oiroliMl with tho oirolinii" ot' tho 
sun : but tho shavlows ot' iho troos bonoath whioh 
thoy sat eiivlod not, nor did thov ohauiio wiili 
tho ohanii'ini>- of tho univorsal liiiht. 'I'ho i\vos 
ot' tho hormits ga/.od unwinking;- u[H>n tho t'aoo 



Yamaraja, V2Z 

of Uj(; Klin ; til.; l>ir<U of }i<;a\'C'n noHtled in the 
immobility of tlicir vawt \Hsar<U, All trcm- 

Minj^ly Ji<; awkr^l of th^^m whore Vamaraja might 

h<; foiJiJ^J. 

* 
* # 

JyMi;^ he iiwalU'A m HiU'Mcjt their answer, 
heariiij^ only the wat<;rH ehaiiting their et<;nial 
hlokaH, the treeH whi«perinj( with all their flieker- 
irig U',ni'-U)U'^'iUtH, the hmnmin;^ of in numerable 
gol'hjfi flie«, the heavy movement of great Ufa«t« 
in the jungle. At UiKt the IJrahmaiiH moved their 
lipH, and answered, ** Wherefore heekeht thou 
Yama?" And at their utterantx' the voices of 
the waterH and the wrx><l« wr;re hunhed ; the 
golden (He« cAt'dM-A the music of their w'iu^h. 

Then answere^l tlic pilgrim, tremblingly : " Lo ! 
T aljso am a liiahman, 3 e holy ones ; but to me it 
hath not Ujen given to obtain the Kiipreme wis- 
rioi/i, seeing that I am unworthy' to know the 
AbHoluUj, Yet I sought diligently for the spaee 
of sixty years U) obtain holiness; and our law 
Utau'hiiH tliat if one have m/t reacherl wis^lom at 
sixt}', it is his dut}', returning home, U) take a 
wife, that he may have holy children. 'J'his I did ; 
and one son was lK)i*n unto me, Ijeautiful as the 
Vassika flow<;r, learned even in his ehildlKKXJ. 
And I did all I could Uj instil inU* him the love 



1 24 Yamaraja. 

of uttermost wisdom, teaching him m3'self until 
it came to pass that he knew more than I, where- 
fore I sought him teachers from Elephanta. And 
in the beauty of his 3'outh he was taken from me, 
— borne awa}' witli the silk of manhood already 
shadowing his lip. Wherefore I pray ye, hol}^ 
men, tell me in wliat place Yamaraja dwells, that 
I ma}' praj' him to give me back m}' boy ! " 

* 
* * 

Then all the hoh' voices answered together as 
one voice, as the tone of many waters flowing in 
one cadence : " Verily thou hast not been fitted 
to seek the supreme wisdom, seeing that in the 
winter of thine age thou dost still mourn b}' 
reason of a delusion. For the stars die in their 
courses, the heavens wither as leaves, the worlds 
vanish as the smoke of incense. Lives are as 
flower-petals opening to fade ; the works of 
man as verses written upon water. He who 
hath reached supreme wisdom mourneth exist- 
ence onl}'. . . . Yet, that thou mayst be enlight- 
ened, we will even advise thee. The kingdom 
of Yama thou mayst not visit, for no man ma}' 
tread the way with mortal foet. But many hun- 
dred leagues toward the setting of the sun, there 
is a valley, with a city shining in the midst 
thereof. There no man dwells, but the gods 



Yamaraja, 125 

only, when thc}- incarnate themselves to live npon 
earth. And upon the eighth day of each month 
Yamaraja visits them, and thou mayst see him. 
Yet beware of failing a moment to practise the 
ceremonies, to recite the Mantras, lest a strange 
evil befall thee ! . . . Depart now from us, that we 
may re-enter mto contemplation ! " 

* 
* * 

So, after journeying many moons, the good 
Brahman stood at last upon the height above the 
valley, and saw the ivory-white city, — a vision 
of light, like the heaven Trayastrinshas. Not 
Hanoumat, tlie messenger of Kama, beheld such 
splendor, wlien he haunted the courts of Lanka 
by night, and beheld ni Havana's palace the love- 
liest of women interlaced in the embrace of sleep, 
" the garland of women's bodies interwoven." 
Terraces fretted by magical chisels rose heaven- 
ward, tier upon tier, until their summit seemed 
but the flcecincss of summer clouds ; arches tow- 
ered upou arches ; pink marble gates yawned like 
the mouths of slumbering bayaderes ; crenellated 
walls edged with embroidery of inlaid gold sur- 
rounded gardens deep as forests; domes white- 
rounded, like breasts, made pearly curves against 
the bhic ; fountains, silver-nippled, showered per- 
fumed spray ; and above the great gate of the 



126 Yamaraja, 

palace of the gods, where Devas folded their 
wings on guard, flamed a vast carbuncle, upon 
whose face was graven the Word comprehended 
only by those who have attained supreme wisdom. 
And standnig before the gate, the Brahman l)urnt 
the hoh' incense and recited the hoi}' Mantras, . . . 
until the Devas, pitying him, rolled back the doors 
of gold, and bade him enter. 

* 
* * 

Lofty as heaven seemed that palace hall, whose 
vault of cerulean blue hung, self-sustained, above 
the assembly of the gods ; and the pavement of 
sable marble glimmered like a fathomless lake. 
Yet, as the Brahman prostrated himself, not daring 
to lift his eyes, he felt that it quavered under the 
tread of mortal feet even as when earth trembles. 
In its reflection he beheld the gods seated in as- 
sembl}', not awful of image as in earthly temples, 
but as beings of light, star-diademed, rosy with 
immortalit3\ . . . Only Yamaraja's brow bore no 
starry flame ; and there was in his gaze a pro- 
fundit}' as of deep answering unto deep. To the 
ears of the worshipper his voice came like the 
voice of waters pouring over the verge of an echo- 
less abyss, . . . and in obedience to that voice the 
Brahman uttered his prayer. 

And tli3 Lord of Death, replying in strange 



Yamaraja. 127 

tones, said: " Pions and just is tliic pra3'er, O 
child of Brahma ! Thy son is now in the Garden 
of the East. Take him bj the hand and go tliy 
way.". . . 

Joyfulh' the Brahman entered that garden of 
fountains that flow forever ; of fruits, eternally 
ripe, that never fall ; of flowers immortal, that 
never fade. And he discerned, among children 
innumerable disporting, his own beloved son play- 
ing beside the fountains ; so that he cried out with 
a great cr}', and ran to him and clasped him and 
wept over him, exclaiming : " O sweet son ! O my 
beloved first-born ! dost thou not know me, thy 
father who mourned thee so long, — Avho hath even 
entered the presence of Yamaraja, the Lord of 
Death, to seek thee?". . . 

But like a mist the child passed from his 
embrace, and answered, with a w^onder in his 
eyes: ^'•1 knoio thee not!^\ . . 

Thon, kneeling in tears before the boy, the 
Brahman cried: '^ O sweetest son, hast thou in- 
deed forgotten the father who loved thee more 
than his own life, — who taught thy infant lips to 
utter the holy prayers, — who denied thee no wish 
of thy heart, bringing thee up as the son of a 
rajah, teaching thee all the wisdom of the Brah- 



128 YamaraJcL 

mans ? Hast thou forgotten tb}" mother, also, who 
weeps for thee now all alone, seeing that I have 
jonrne3-ed so long to find thee? Nay ! look at me 
with th}' e3'es ! look at me again, that thou mayst 
know me ! Or is it because my grief hath so 
changed me that I am no longer the same in thy 
sight?" ... 

Bat the child ever replied : " I know thee not ! " 
Then, casting himself upon the ground, the Brah- 
man wept as one smitten b}' infinite despair, and so 
sobbed, until the child, touching him, spoke again : 
"I know thee not! Thou art to me a stranger! 
I know, indeed, that thou art foolish, — uttering 
the terms father and mother^ signifying condi- 
tions that pass away like the grass of the earth. 
I perceive, also, that thou art sorrowful, and 
therefore a victim of delusion ; for sorrow spring- 
cth from ignorance and desire, as the fungus from 
corruption. Here w^e know not desire, we know 
not sorrow, neither do we harbor illusion. Thou 
art no more to me than the wind to the moon, 
than the flame blown out is to the object once 
illuminated. Get thee from hence, therefore, as 
it will profit thee nothing to bring thy sorrow and 
th}' folly into this place.". . . 

So the Brahman departed, speechless for grief. 



Yamaraja. 129 

Only then did he seek the Buddha, the Shah- 
man Gotama, that he might obtain advice and 
consolation. And the Buddha, pitying him, laid 
his hand upon his heart, and gave him rest, say- 
ing : — 

" O Brahman, thou hast only been punished for 
tin' self-delusion and foil}'. 

" Know that the spirit of the dead receiveth a 
new bodily form after its departure, so that for- 
mer relationship utterly ceaseth, even as one visit- 
ing a tavern b}^ the wayside is no longer a guest, 
having departed therefrom. 

"Much thou art to be pitied for th}^ weakness 
and this delusion of thy love, nor canst thou find 
consolation but in supreme wisdom onl}'. 

" Vainl}" do men concern themselves regarding 
wife and child ; for the end cometh to all as a 
roaring torrent, sweeping awaj- whatsoever earthly 
affection clings to. 

"Then neither father nor mother can save; 
then neither love nor strength may succor ; par- 
ent and kinsman become as blind men set to 
guard a burning lamp. 

" Therefore the truh' wise considereth not such 
things, seeking only to save the world, to en- 
lighten men, to destroy sorrow hy destro3'ing 
desire, to redeem himself. 
9 



180 YamarajcL 

"Even as the wind driveth n^xny clouds, 
so should the wise seek to banish thought, to 
banish worldl}- consciousness, and thus escape 
forever the future birth and death, attaining the 
eightfold Wisdom, — finding at last the eternal 
peace, the eternal rest. 

"Whatsoever is high shall be brought low; 
wheresoever is agreement will surely come divis- 
ion ; where there is l.'irth there shall sureh' be 
death also. 

"Therefore cast off, O Brahmr.n, all passion, 
all affection, all regret, as the Vassika plant sheds 
its withered flowers ; therefore flee the ignorant, 
and seek in solitude the true wisdom, needing no 
companion, rejoicing as the elephant escaped from 
the herd. . . ." 

And, perceiving the vanitj^ of life, the evanes- 
cence of joj', the foil}'' of grief, that Brahman 
ceased to mourn, and besought permission to 
follow the footsteps of the Teacher, . . . 



The Lotos of Faith, 131 



THE LOTOS OF FAITH; 

Or, *' The Furnace of Fire," ichi'ch is in the Jatakas of 
Buddha. . . . At his hirlh the waters of the Sea became fresh, 
and the deeps of the Seven Hells ivere illuminated. The blind 
received their siyht, that they mi(/ht behold the bliss of the world . 
the deaf their hearing, that they might know the tidings of joy ; 
by sevenfold lotos-fowers the rocks ivere riven asunder ; the light 
of glory immeasurable filled the world systems of ten thousand 
suns. . . . 

In the years when Brahmaclatta reigned over 
Benares, — the holy eity, — the city of apes and 
peacocks, — the city possessing the seven precious 
things, and resounding with the ten cries, with 
the trujn[)etmg of elephants, the neighing of 
horses, the melody of instruments and voices 
of singing girls, — then the future Buddha-elect 
was born as a son in the fomil}' of the royal 
treasurer, after liaving passed through kotis of 
births innumerable. 

Now the dr.ralion of one koti is ten millions of 
years. 

And the Buddha-elect, the Bodisat, was 
brought up in splendid luxurj' as a prince of 
the holy cil}-, and while yet a boy mastered all 
branches of human knowledge, and becoming a 



132 The Lotos of Faiih. 

luan succeeded his father as keeper of the treas- 
ury. But even while exercising the duties of 
his office, he gave ricli gifts to holy men, and 
allowed none to excel him in almsgiving. 

At that time there also lived a holy Buddha, 
who, striving to fulfil each and all of the Ten 
Perfections, had passed seven days and seven 
nights without eating so much as one grain of 
rice. Arousing himself at last from his holy 
trance, he cleansed and robed his person, and 
purified himself, and passing through the air hy 
virtue of his perfection, alighted before the door 
of the treasurer's house, with his begging-bowl 
in his hand. 

Then the Bodisat, beholding the sacred mendi- 
cant awaiting in silence, bade a servant fetch to 
him the Buddha's bowl, that he might fill it with 
such food as those who seek supreme wisdom 
may permit themselves to eat. So the servant 
proceeded to fetch the bowl. 

But even as he advanced, and before he might 
reach out his hand, the ground rocked and heaved 
like the sea beneath him ; and the earth opened 
itself, and 3'aw^ned to its entrails, making an abj'ss 
between the hol}^ mendicant and the servant of 
the Bodisat. And the gulf became a hell of seeth- 
ing flame, like the hell of Avici, like the heart of 



The Lotos of Faith 133 

a volcano in wliicli even the crags of granite melt 
as wax, pass awa}' as clouds. Also a great and 
fantastic darkness grew before the sun, and black- 
ened all his face. 

Wherefore the servant and his fellows fled 
shrieking, leaving onl}- the Bodisat standing upon 
one verge of the abyss, and the Buddha, calmly 
waithig, upon the other. Where the feet of the 
perfect mendicant stood, the ab^'ss widened not ; 
but it widened swiftly, devouring the ground be- 
fore the feet of the Bodisat, as though seeking to 
engulf him. For Mara, Lord of Rakshasas and 
of evil ones, desiring that the Buddha might die, 
souglit thus to prevent the almsgiving of the Bo- 
disat. And the darkness before the sun was the 
darkness of Mara's awful face. 

And as a muttering of mountain thunder came 
a voice, saying: "The Buddha shall not live by 
thine alms-gift ; his hour hath come. . . . Mine is 
the fire between thee and him." 

And the Bodisat looked at the Buddha across 
the abyss of fire ; and the Buddha's face changed 
not, neither did he utter a word to dissuade nor 
give one sign to encourage. 

But the Bodisat cried aloud, even while the 
abyss, widening, grew vaster to devour him : 
"Mara, thou shalt not prevail! To thee power 



134 The Lotos of Faith, 

is not given against duty ! . . . My lord Buddha, 
I come to thee, fearing not ; take thou this food 
from the hands of thy servant." 

And with the dish of rice in his hands, the Bo- 
disal strode into the roaring waste of lire, utter- 
ing these jewel- words : ''Better to enter willingly 
into hell than neglect a duty or knoicingly com- 
mit a wrong !'\ . . 

Even then the Buddha smiled on the other 
verge. And ere the Bodisat could fall, there 
suddenly arose from the depths of the pit of 
fire a vast and beautiful lotos-flower, like unto 
that from whose womb of gold was Brahma born ; 
and it received the feet of the Bodisat, and bore 
him beyond the pit, upcasting over him a spray 
of golden dust, like a shower of stars. So he 
poured into the Buddha's bowl the holy gift of 
alms. 

The darkness vanished ; the abyss was not ; 
the Buddha, rising in air, passed over a bridge 
of rosy cloud to the mountain regions of Hima- 
laya. But the Bodisat, still standing upon the 
lotos of gold, long discoursed unto the people 
concerning hol}^ things. 



RUNES FROM THE KALEWALA. 




THE MAGICAL WORDS. 



There is in the ancient Finnish tongue a strange hook written^ 
called Kalewala, a hook of runes, treating about the beginning 
of the world, and about the god-smiths icho first wrought the 
foundations of the sky, and about the witches and the enchanters 
of the farthest North. Of witches Louhi was among the greatest ; 
and her daughter was wooed by gods and heroes, — even by Wai- 
namoinen the mightiest. . . . So fair was the virgin that her beauty 
gave light like the moon ; so white were her bones that their white- 
ness glimmered through the transparency of her flesh ; so clear 
ivas the ivory of her bones that the marrow could be seen within 
them. . . . And the story of how Wainamoinen built a boat that 
he might sail to ivoo the virgin, is thus told in the runes of the 
Kalewala : — 

. . . The aged and valiant "Wainamoinen re- 
solved to build hiniself a boat, a swift war-boat. 
He hewed the trees, he hewed the trunks of the 
pines and the firs, singing songs the while, chant- 
ing the runes that banish evil. And as he sang 
the smitten trees answered him, the fibres of the 



138 The Macjlcal Words. 

oak and of the fir and of the mountain pine 
yielded up their secrets in sounds that to other 
men seemed echoes onl}', but which to Waina- 
moinen's cars were s^'llables and words, — words 
wrung from the wood by encliantment. 

Now only the keel remained to be wrought; 
the strong keel of the war-ship had yet to be 
fashioned. And Wainamoincn smote down a 
great oak, that he might carve and curve its 
bod}' as keels are curved and carven. But the 
dying oak uttered its words of wood, its magical 
voice of warning, saying: "Never may I serve 
for the keel of Ihy boat, for the bottom of thy 
war-ship. Lo ! the worms have made their 
crooked dwellings witliin m}' roots : ycsterdaj- 
the raven alighted upon ni}' head ; bloody w^as 
liis back, bloody his crest, and blood lay clotting 
upon the blackness of his neck." 

Therefore the ancient AVainamoinen left the 
oak, and sought among the mountain firs and 
the mountain pines for flawless keel-wood ; and 
he found wood worth}' of his w^ar-boat, and he 
wrought the same into shape b}' the singing of 
magical songs. 

For the words of enchantment \)y which shapes 
are shaped were known to hiui ; by magical w^ords 
he had wrought the hull, with magical words had 



The Magical Words, 139 

formed the oars ; and ribs and keel were b}^ wiz- 
ard song interlocked together. But to perfect 
the prow three words must be sung, three war- 
lock words ; and those three words Wainamoinen 
did not know, and his heart was troubled because 
he did not know them. 

There was a sliepherd dwelling among the hills, 
— an ancient shepherd who had beheld ten times 
a hundred moons ; and him Wainamoinen ques- 
tioned concerning the three magical words. 

But the ancient shepherd answered him dream- 
ily : *^ Surely thou ma3'st find a hundred words, 
a thousand S3'llables of magical song, upon the 
heads of the swallows, upon the shoulders of the 
wild geese, upon the necks of the swans ! " 

Then the aged and valiant "Wainamoinen went 
forth in search of the magical words. He slew 
the fl^'ing swallows by thousands ; thousands of 
white geese he slew ; thousands of snow}' swans 
were stricken by his arrows. Yet he found no 
word written upon their heads, tlieir shoulders, 
their necks, nor even so much as the beginning 
of a word. Then he thought unto himself: 
" Surel}- I maj' find "a hundred words, a thou- 
sand syllables of song, under the tongues of the 
summer reindeer, within the rudd}- mouth of the 
white squirrel." 



140 The Magical Words. 

And he went his wa}^ to seek the magical 
words. He strewed the vast plains with the 
bodies of slaughtered reindeer ; he slew the 
white squirrels b}' thousands and tens of thou- 
sands. But he found no word beneath the 
tongue of the reindeer, no magical word in the 
mouth of the white squirrel, not even so much as 
the beginning of a word. 
, * , 

Yet again Wainamoinen thought to himself, 
saying: " Surel}^ I may find a hundred magical 
words, a thousand syllables of song, in the dwell- 
ing of the Queen of Death, in the land of Tuonela, 
in the underground plains of Manala." 

And he took his wa}' unto the dwelling-place of 
Tuonela, to the moonless land of the dead, to the 
underground plains of Manala. Three da3'S he 
journe3'ed thither with steps lighter than air ; 
three days he journe^'ed as a shadow vvalking 
upon shadow. 

And he came at last unto the banks of the 
sacred river, the sable shore of the black river, 
over which the spirits of the dead must pass ; and 
he cried out to the children of Death : " O daugh- 
ters of Tuoni, bring hither your bark ! O chil- 
dren of Manala, bring hither 3'our bark, that I 
ma}^ cross over the black river ! " 



The Magical Words. 141 

But the daughters of Dccith, the children of 
Hell, cried out, saying: "The bark shall be 
taken over to thee onl^' when thou shalt have 
told us how thou hast come to Manala, how thou 
hast reached Tuonela, — the abode of Death, the 
domain of ghosts." 

And Wainamoinen called out to them across 
the waters, saying: " Surely Tuoni himself hath 
conducted me hither ; sureh' the Queen of Death 
hath driven me to Tuonela." 

But the daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; 
the virgins of Kalma were angry. And thej' an- 
swered : " We know the artifice of men ; we per- 
ceive the lie within i\\\ mouth. For surelj' thou 
livest ! no wound hath slain thee ; no woe hath 
consumed thee ; no disaster hath destroyed thee ; 
no grave hath been dug for thee. Who, there- 
fore, hath brought thee alive to Manala?" 

And AVainamoinen, answering, called out to 
them across the waters : ' Iron surelj^ hath 
brought me to the land of death ; steel surely 
hath accompanied nie unto Manala." 

The daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; the 
virgins of Kalma were angry. And the}' an- 
swered : "We know all artifices of men; we 
perceive the lie within thy mouth. Had iron 
brought thee to Tuonela, had steel accompanied 



142 The Magical Words, 

thee unto Manala, th}* garments would drip with 
blood. . . . AVho brought thee to Manala?" 

And Wainanioinen called out again to them 
across the waters : "Fire hath brought nie unto 
Manala ; flame hath accompanied me to Tuonela." 

The daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; the 
Tirgins of Kalma were angrj'. And they cried 
out: "We know all artifices of men; we per- 
ceive the lie within thy mouth. Had fire brouglit 
thee to Manala, had flame accompanied thee to 
Tuonela, thy garments would be consumed by the 
fire, the glow of the flame would be upon thee. 
Who brought thee to Manala?" 

And Wainamoinen jQt again called out to them 
across the black river, saying: "Water hath 
brouglit me to Manala ; water hath accompanied 
me to Tuonela." 

The daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; the 
virgins of Kalma were angr3\ And they an- 
swered, saying: "We know all the artifices of 
men ; w^e perceive the lie within thy mouth. For 
there is no dripping of water from thy garments. 
Cease, therefore, to lie to us ; for we know thou 
livest ; we perceive that no wound hath slain thee, 
no woe consumed thee, no disaster hath crushed 
thy bones. Who brought thee to Manala? who 
guided thee to Tuonela ? " 



The Magical Words. 143 

Then Wainamoineii called out to them across 
the river : " Surel}' I will now utter the truth. I 
have made me a boat by my art ; I have wrought 
me a war-boat b}^ magical song. With a song I 
shaped the hull ; with a song I formed the keel ; 
with a song I fashioned the oars. Yet three words 
are wanting to me, — three magical words l^y which 
I may perfect the carven prow in its place ; and I 
have come to Tuonela to find these three words ; 
I have come to jNIanala to seek these three words 
of enchantment. Bring hither your bark, O 
children of Tuonela ! bring hither your boat, 
O virgins of Kalma ! " 

So the daughters of Death came over the dark 
river in their black boat, and the}' rowed Waina- 
moinen to the further shore, to the waste of wan- 
dering ghosts ; and they gave him to drink of 
what the dead drink, and to eat of what the dead 
devour. And Wainamoinen laid him down and 
slept, being weary wuth his mightv journe}'. 

lie slept and dreamed^ but his garments slept 
not, — his enchanted garments kept watch for 
him. 

Now the daughter of Tuoni, the iron-fingered 
daughter of Death, seated herself in the darkness 
upon a great stone in the midst of the waters ; 



144: The Magical Words, 

and with iron fingers wove a net of iron thread, 
one thousand ells in length. 

The sons of Tuoni, the sons of the Queen of 
Death, also seated themselves in the same dark- 
ness upon the same great stone in the midst of 
the same waters, and with their hooked fingers, 
with their iron finger-nails, also wove a net of 
iron thread, a thousand ells in length. 

And the}^ cast their net into tlie river, across 
the river, that the}' might ensnare Wainamoinen, 
that the}' might entangle the magician, that the}' 
might prevent him from ever leaving tlie ab3'ss 
of Manala, ever leaving the domain of Tuonela, so 
long as the golden moon should circle in heaven, 
even so long as the silver sun should light the 
world of men. 

But the garments of Wainamoinen kept watch, 
the enchanted garments of the magician slept not. 
And Wainamoinen uttered a magical word, and 
changed himself into a stone ; and the stone rolled 
into the black river. 

And the stone became a viper of iron, and 
passed sinuousl}' through the meshes of the nets, 
and through the river currents, and into the black 
reeds upon the black river's further bank. 

So Wainamoinen passed from the kingdom of 
Tuoni, from the children of Death ; but he had 



The Magical Words, 145 

not found the magical words, nor so much as the 
piirt of a word. 

Then thought Wainamohien unto himself: 
" Sureh' I ma}' find a hundred words, a thou- 
sand syllables of song, iu the mouth of the earth- 
giant, in the entrails of the ancient Kalev/a ! 
Long- is the way to his resting-place ; one must 
travel awhile over the points of women's needles, 
and awhile upon the sharp edges of warriors' 
swords, and 3'et again awhile upon the sharp 
steel of the battle-axes of heroes." 

And Wainamoinen went to the forge of his 
brother Ihnarinnen, — Ilmarinnen, the Eternal 
Smith, who forged the vault of heaven, leav- 
ing no mark of the teeth of the pincers, no dent 
of the blows of the hammer, — Ilmarinnen, who 
forged for men during the age of darkness a 
sun of silver and a moon of gold. And he cried 
out: "O Ilmarinnen, miglit\' brother, forge me 
shoes of iron, gloves of iron, a coat of iron ! 
forge me a staff of iron with a pith of steel, 
that I may wrest the magic words from the stom- 
ach of Kalewa, from the dead entrails of the 
earth-giant." 

And Ihnarinnen forged them. Yet he said : 
*'0 brother "Wainamoinen, the ancient Kalewa 
10 



146 The Magical Words, 

is dead ; the grave of the earth-giant is deep. 
Thou mayst obtain no word from him, — not 
even the beginning of a word." 

But Wainamoinen departed ; Wainamoinen has- 
tened over the way strewn with the points of 
needles and tlie edges of swords and axe-heads 
of sharpest steel. He ran swiftly over them 
with shoes of iron ; he tore them from his path 
with gloves of iron, until he reached the resting- 
place of Kalewa, the vast grave of the earth- 
giant. 

For a thousand moons and more Kalewa had 
slept beneath the earth. The poplar-tree, the 
haapa^ had taken root upon his shoulders ; the 
white birch, tlie koivu^ was growing from his 
temples ; the elder tree, the Uppa^ was springing 
from his cheeks ; and his beard had become over- 
grown with joaA/t^-bark, with the bark of the 
drooping willow. The shadowy fir, the oravihu- 
itsi, was rooted in his forehead ; the mountain-pine, 
the havickonka, was sprouting from his teeth ; the 
dark spruce, the petcfja, was springing from his 
feet. 

But Wainamoinen tore the haapa from his 
shoulders, and the koivu from his temples, and 
the leppa from his cheeks, and the pahju-bark 
from his beard, and the oravikuusi from his fore- 



The Magical Words. 147 

head, and the havukonka from bis teeth, and the 
petaja IVom his feet. 

Then into the mouth of the Mountain-breaker, 
into the mouth of the buried giant, Wainamoincn 
miglitiiy thrust his staff of smithied iron. 

And Kalewa awoke from his shmiber of ages, — 
awoke with groans of pain, — and he closed his 
jaws upon the staff; but his teeth could not crush 
the core of steel, could not shatter the staff of iron. 
And as Kalewa opened wider his mouth to devour 
the tormentor, lo ! Wainamoinen leaped into tlie 
yawning throat and descended into the mon- 
strous entrails. And Wainamoinen kindled a 
flame in the giant's bell}', — built him a forge in 
his entrails. 

Then Kalewa, in his great agon}', called on that 
god who leans upon the axis of the world, and 
upon the blue goddesses of the waters, and upon 
the deities of the ic}' wildernesses, and upon the 
spirits of the forest, and even upon the great 
Juinala, at whose birth the brazen mountains trem- 
bled and lakes were changed into hills. But the 
gods came not to aid him. 

Then Kalewa cursed his tormentor with a thou- 
sand magical curses, — with curses of wind and 
storm and fire, — with curses that change men's 
faces into stone, — with curses that transport the 



148 The Magical Words. 

accursed to the A'ast deserts of Laponia, wlicre 
the hoof of the horse is never heard, where the 
children of the mare can find no pasturage. But 
the curses harmed not AYainamoinen ; the curses 
onl}' called forth the laughter of scorn from the 
lips of Wainanioinen. 

And AVaiuamoinen cried out unto Ivalc\Ya : 
''Never shall I depart from hence, O thou 
mightiest singer of runes, until I have learned 
from thee the three magical words which I desire, 
— the three words of enchantment that I have 
sought throughout the world in vain. Sing to 
me, O Kalewa, th}- songs, th}' most wondrous 
songs, th\' marvellous songs of enchantment." 

So the giant Kalewa, the possessor of sub- 
limest wisdom, the singer of marvellous runes, 
opened his mouth and sang his songs for AVaina- 
moinen, — his most wondrous songs, his wizard 
songs. 

AVords succeeded to words, verses to verses, 
wizard runes to wizard runes. Ere Kalewa could 
sing all that he knew, could utter all that he had 
learned, the mountains would cease to be, the 
waters of the rivers would dvy up, the great lr.kes 
be depopulated of their finny people, the sea have 
forgotten its power to make waves. 

Unceasingly he sang for many days, unceas- 



The Magical Words. 149 

ingl}' for manj' sleepless nights ; he sang the songs 
of wizards, the songs of enchantment, the songs 
that create or clestro3'. 

He sang the songs of wisdom, the runes snng 
b}' the gods before the beginning of the world, 
the verses by whose utterance nothingness became 
substance and darkness became light. 

And as he sang the fair Sun paused in her 
course to hear him ; the golden JNIoon stopped in 
her path to listen ; the awful billows of the sea 
stood still ; the icy ri\Grs that devour the pines, 
that swallow up tlie firs, ceased to rage ; the 
might}' cataracts hung motionless above their 
al\ysses ; the waves of Juortana lifted high their 
heads to hear. 

And Wainamoinen heard at last the three 
words, the three magical words, he sought for ; 
and he ceased tormenting Kalewa, and departed 
from him. So Kalewa sank again into his eter- 
nal sluml^er, and the earth that loved him recov- 
ered him, and tlie forests rewove their network of 
knotted roots above his place of sleep. . . . 



150 The First Musician, 



THE FIRST MUSICIAN. 

In the ancient runes of ilie Finns, the runes of the Kalewala, 
is related the creation oftlte ivorldfrom the yolk of an egg, and of 
the heavens from the shell of the egg ; also the origin of Iron and 
the birth of Steel and the beginning of Music. . . . Now the fn-t 
musician ivas no other than Wainamoinen ; and the first kan- 
tde, triple-stringed, was made by him from the resonant icood of 
the fir, and from the bones of a giant pike, as is told in the 
Twenty second Rune. Out of the fir-tree was formed the body of 
the kantele ; out oj the teeth of the pike-fish were the screws 
loroughi ; and the strings ivere made of hairs from the black mane 
of the steed of Hiisi the magician, — from the shining mane of the 
stallion of Hiisi, the herder of wolves and bears. . . . 

... So the insti'iiment was completed, the kan- 
tele was prepared ; and the aged and valiant 
Wainamoinen bade the old men to pla}" upon it, 
and to sing the runes of old. 

And the}" sang, but wearily-, as winds in moun- 
tain wastes ; and their voices trembled frostily, 
and the instrument rebelled against the touch of 
their feeble fingers. 

Then the ancient and valiant Wainamoinen 
commanded the young men to sing. But their 
fingers became ci"amped upon the strings, and 
the sounds called forth were sorrowful, and the 
instrument rebelled against their touch. Joy 



The First Musician. 151 

answered not unto joy, song responded not unto 
song. 

Then the ancient and vahant Wainamoinen 
sent the kantele to the wizard people who dwelt 
in the wastes of ice, to the people of Pohjola, to 
the Witch of Pohjola. 

And the Witch sang, and the witch-virgins 
with her ; the wizards also, and the children of 
tlie wizards. But joy answered not unto joy; 
song responded not unto song. And the kan- 
tele shrieked beneath the touch of their fingers, 
shrieked like one who, fearing greatly in the 
blackness of the night, feeleth invisible hands 
upon him. 

Then spake an aged man who had seen more 
than two hundred winters, — an ancient man 
aroused by the shrieking of the kantele from 
his slumber witliin the recess of the hearth : 
''Cease! cease! for the sounds which ye utter 
make anguish in my brain, the noises which ye 
make do chill the marrow within my bones. 
Let the instrument be cast into the waters, or 
returned forthwith unto him who wrought it." 

Then from the strings of the kantele issued 
sweet sounds, and the sounds shaped themselves 
into words, and the kantele answered with its 
voice, praying: " Cast me not mto the deep, but 



152 The First Musician, 

return me rather unto him who wrought me ; for 
in the hands of ni}' creator I will give forth 
sounds of jo}^ I will utter sounds of harmonious 
sweetness." 

So they took back the kantele unto Waina- 
moinen, who had wrought it. 

* * 

And the ancient and valiant Wainamoinen 
washed his tluuubs ; he purified his fingers ; he 
seated himself by the sea upon the Stone of J03', 
upon the Hillock of Silver, even at the summit of 
the Hill of Gold ; and he took the instrument 
within his hands, and lifted up his voice, saying : 
" Let him that hath never heard the strong 
joy of runes, the sweet sound of instruments, 
th3 sound of music, come hither and hear ! " 

And the ancient Wainamoinen began to sing 
Limpid his voice as the voice of running water, 
deep and clear, might}^ and beautiful. 

Lightly his fingers ran over the strings of the 
kantele ; and. the kantele sang in answer, — sang 
weirdl}', sang wondrously, sang throbbingly, like 
the throats of a thousand birds. And its joy 
answered unto the joy of the singer; its song 
responded unto Wainamoinen's song. 

All the living creatures of the forest, all the 
living creatures of air, drew nigh unto the rune- 



The First Musician, 153 

i-athercd themselves about the mighty 
chanter, that thej' might hear the suavitN' of his 
voice, that the}- might taste the sweetness of his 
song. 

The gray wolves came from their lurking-places 
in the vast marshes ; the bears deserted their 
dw^ellings under the roots of the firs, within the 
hollows of the giant pines ; and the}- clambered 
over the hedges in their way, they broke down 
the obstacles before them. And the wolves 
mounted upon the heights, the bears upon the 
trees, while Wainamoinen called J03- into the 
world, while Wainamoinen sang his wondrous 
song. 

The lord of the forest, also, the old man of 
the black beard, — Knippana, king of the joyous 
woods ; and all the followers of Tapio, god of 
wild creatures, came forth to hear, and were vis- 
ible. Even the wife of the forest king, the god- 
dess of savage beasts, the mistress of Tapiola, 
donned her raiment of red, and put on her azure 
stockings, and ascended a hollow birch that she 
might lend ear to the songs of the god. 

All animals of the woods, all birds of the air, 
hurried to hear the marvellous art of the musician, 
hastened to taste the sweetness of his song. 

The eagle descended from the clouds ; the fal- 



154 The First Musician. 

con clave the airs ; the white gulls rose from the 
far sea-marshes, the swans from the clear deeps 
of running water ; the swift lark, the quick fincli, 
the comely linnet, came to perch upon the shoul- 
ders of the god. 

The Sun, bright virgin of the sk}-, — the Sun, 
rich in her splendors, — and the fair-shining Moon, 
had paused in their paths ; the first upon tlie 
luminous vault of heaven, the other upon the end 
of a long cloud. Tliere were \X\Qy weaving their 
subtle tissues of light, — weaving with shuttle of 
gold, carding with carding-comb of silver. Sud- 
denlj' the}^ heard the unknown voice of song, — 
the voice, mighty and sweet, of the rune-singer. 
And the shuttle of gold escaped from their hands, 
and the carding-comb of silver slipped from their 
fingers, and the threads of their tissue were 
broken. 

All animals living in the waters, all the thou- 
sand-finned fishes of the deep, came to hear the 
voice of Wainamoinen, came to taste the sweet- 
ness of his song. 

Swiftly came the salmon and the trout, the 
pikes also and the sea-dogs ; all the great fishes 
and all the little fishes swam toward the shore, 
and remained as nigh as the}' might remain, and 
lifted their heads to listen. 



The First Musician, 155 

And Ahto, monarch of waters, — Alito, ancient 
as the ocean, and bearded with water-weeds, — 
arose upon his great water-lily above the waves. 

The fertile wife of the sea-god was combing her 
hair with a comb of gold, and she heard the voice 
of the singer. And the comb fell from her hands ; 
trembling of pleasure seized her, torture of desire 
came upon her to hear, so that she arose from 
the green ab3'ss and approached the shore. 
There, leaning with her bosom upon the rock, 
she listened to the sounds of the kantele, min- 
gling with the voice of Wainamoinen, — so tender 
the sounds, so sweet the song ! 

All the heroes wept ; the hardest of hearts wer3 
softened ; there were none of all having never 
wept before who did not weep thcji. 

The 3'ouths wept ; the old men wept ; the 
strong men wept ; the virgins wept ; the little 
infants wept ; even Wainamoinen also felt the 
source of his own tears rising to overflow. 

And soon his tears began to fall, outnumbering 
the wild berries of the hills, the heads of the swal- 
lows, the eggs of the fowls. 

They streamed upon his cheeks ; and from his 
cheeks the}' fell upon his knees, and from his 
knees thej' dropped upon his feet, and from 
his feet the}' rolled into the dust. 



156 The First Musician, 

And his tear-drops passed through his six gar- 
ments of wool, his six girdles of gold, his seven 
robes of blue, his eight tunics aU thickl}^ woven. 

And the tears of Wainanioinen flowed as a river, 
and became a river, and poured themselves to the 
shores of the sea, and precipitated themselvx^s 
from the shores into the deeps of the abyss, 
into the region of black sands. 

There did the}' blossom ; there were they trans- 
formed into pearls, — pearls destined for the 
crowns of kings, for the eternal J03' of noblest 
heroes. 

* * 

And the aged Wainainoinen cried out : " O 
youths, O daughters of illustrious race ! is there 
none among ye who will go to gather up my tears 
from the deeps of the ocean, from the region of 
black sand ? " 

But the youths and the elders answered, say- 
ing: "There is none among us willing to go to 
gather up th}' tears from the deeps of the ocean, 
from the region of black sand." 

Then a seamew, a scamew with plumage of 
blue, dipped her beak into the cold waves ; and 
she gathered the pearls, and she gathered the 
tears, of Wainamoinen from the deeps of the ocean, 
from the region of black sand. 



The Ileal lug of Wainamolnen, 157 



THE HEALING OF WAINAMOINEN. 

. . . "She is all fair, the Goddess of Veins, — the Goddess 
Suonetar, the beneficent Goddess of Veins, lifarvellousli/ doth 
she spin the veins of men icith her icondrous spindle, with her 
distaff of brass, with her spinning-wheel of iron.". . . 

Like the leaping of the mountain stream, like 
the rushing of a torrent, the blood issued from 
the knee of Wainamoinen, wounded b}' his own 
axe through the craft of Hiisi the Evil, through 
the malice of Lempo, the herder of wolves and 
bears. 

The ancient and valiant Wainamoinen had 
knowledge of all wisdom, all speech that is eter- 
nal, all m.agical words save onh' tlie word bj* 
which wizard wounds are healed. He invoked 
tliC magical art, he uttered tlie awful impreca- 
tion ; carefuU}' he read the Original Words, pro- 
nounced the runes of science. 

But he had forgotten the mightiest words, — 
the Words of Blood, the charmed words by which 
the palpitant torrent is checked, b}' whi(;h the 
gor}' stream is held back, b}' which invincible 
dikes are cast athwart the places broken l\y 
iron, athwart the bites made by the blue teeth 
of steel. 



158 The Healing of Wainamoinen. 

And the blood ceased not to gush bubbling 
from the wound of the hero, from the knee of 
AYahiamoinen. 

* * 

The aged and valiant Wainamoinen harnessed 
his steed to his brown sledge ; he mounted upon 
the seat, smote the swift horse, and cracked his 
great whip adorned with pearls. 

The steed flew over the long course, drawing 
the brown sledge, devouring distance. Swift as 
wind was the driving of Wainamoinen, until he 
neared the dwelling of the sorcerei's, tlie first of 
the habitations of the wizards. And he halted 
at the threshold, and cried: "Is there in this 
habitation an}' man learned in the knowledge of 
iron, — anv man who can oppose a dike to this 
river, who can check this toi'rent of blood ? " 

A child, a little child, was seated in the middle 
of the floor; and the child answered, saying: 
"There is no man here learned in the knowl- 
edge of iron, — no man able to assuage with his 
breath even the bruises of wood, nor to ease the 
pain of heroes. . . . Go thou to another habitation." 

The ancient and valiant Wainamoinen made 
his great whip, adorned with pearls, whistle upon 
the flanks of his rapid courser. Swift as light- 
ning his course, until they came to the middle 



The Heeding of Wainamoineu. 159 

dwelling ; and Wainamoinen halted at the thresh- 
old, and cried aloud : " Is there in this habitation 
any man learned in the knowledge of iron, — any 
man able to oppose a dike to this river, to check 
this torrent of blood ? " 

An aged woman was there, lying under her 
blankets, chattering, babbling, within the far- 
thest end of the recess of the hearth, — an aged 
woman with three teeth only, — the wisest woman 
in all that country. And she arose and drew 
nigh unto the door, and made reph', saying: 
"There is no man here learned enough to com- 
prehend the misfortune of the hero, to ease his 
pain, to stop the river of the veins, the rainfall 
of blood, tlie torrent of blood out-rolling. Go, 
seek thou such a man in some other habitation." 

The aged and valiant "Wainamoinen made his 
great whip, adorned with pearls, whistle upon the 
ilanks of his swift steed. Lightning-wise he fol- 
lowed the long way leading to the highest habita- 
tion. And he descended at the threshold, and 
leaning against a pillar, cried aloud: "Is there 
in this habitation any man learned in the knowl- 
edge of iron, — any man able to oppose a dike to 
this river, to check this torrent of blood?" 

An aged man dwelt within the great fireplace. 
His voice roared from the recess of the glowing 



160 The Healing of Walnamolnen, 

hollow : " We have cheeked mightier ones, we have 
enchained swifter ones, we have overcome greater 
dangers, we have broken down loftier obstacles, 
— ev^en b}' the Three Words of the Creator, b}' 
the utterance of the Original Words, the holy 
words. B}' them the mouths of rivers, the courses 
of lakes, the fury of cataracts, have been over- 
come. We have separated straits from prom- 
ontories ; we have conjoined isthmuses with 

isthmuses." 

* 

The aged Wainamoinen descended from his 
sledge, and entered beneath the old man's roof. 
A cup of silver was brought to him, and a cup of 
gold ; but these could not contain the least part 
of the blood of Wainamoinen, the blood of the 
noble god. 

The old man roared from the recess of the 
hearth, — the long-beard cried out : " What man- 
ner of man art thou? what hero? Already have 
seven cups, eight great vessels, been filled with 
the blood flowing from thy knee ! Ah ! would I 
could utter other magical words, — even the great 
Words of Blood ! But, alas ! I have forgotten 
the origin of Iron." 

Then said the aged Wainamoinen : " I know the 
origin of Iron ; I know the birth of Steel. There 



The Healing of Wainamoinen. 161 

were three cliildren whose orighi was the same : 
Water, which is the eldest; Iron, which is the 
youngest ; Fire, to which the middle rank belongs. 
And Fire soon displayed its rage ; flames lifted 
themselves insolenth^, and waxed vast with pride. 
The fields were consumed, the marshes were 
scorched in that great year of sterilit}', in that 
fatal sunnner which devoured with inextinguish- 
able fire all creatures of nature. Then did 
Iron seek a refuge, a place wherein to hide.". . . 

The old man roared from the recess of the 
hearth : " Where did Iron hide itself? Where did 
it find refuge in that great 3ear of barrenness, in 
that fatal sunnner which devoured all creatures 
of nature?" 

The aged Wainamoinen, the valiant Waina- 
moinen, made answer: "Then Iron hid itself; 
Iron found a refuge in the extremit}' of a long 
cloud, in the summit of an oak stripped of its 
branches, in the budding bosom of a 30ung girl. 
. . . There were three virgins, three affianced 
maidens, who poured forth upon the ground the 
milk of their breasts. The milk of the first was 
black; the milk of the second, white; the milk 
of the third was ruddy. Of the virgin whose milk 
was black, Flexible Iron was born ; of her whose 
milk was white. Fragile Iron was born ; of her 
11 



162 The Healing of Wainamoinen, 

with the rudd}' milk was born Steel. . . . Then 
for two 3'ears Iron hid itself in the midst of a 
vast marsh, upon the summit of a rock where the 
white swans laid their eggs, where the wild duck 
hatched out her little ones. And the wolf rushed 
through the marsh ; and the bear rushed into the 
sterile plain ; and the}' tore up the earth that con- 
cealed the Iron. But a god, passing through that 
barren place, saw the black sand that the wolf had 
torn up, that the bear had trampled beneath his 
feet. . . . And that da}' the Iron was taken out 
of the marsh, and purged from the slime of the 
earth, and purified by drying from the humiditj' 
of the waters." 

The old man roared from the recess of the 
hearth: "So that was the origin of Iron? that 
was the birth of Steel?" 

But the valiant Wainamoinen made answer: 
" Nay ! not yet has the origin of Iron been 
told. For, without devouring Fire, Iron may not 
be born ; without Water, it ma}' not be hardened. 
Into the workshop of the great smith it was 
borne, into the forge of Ilmarinnen ; and the 
mighty craftsman, the Eternal Smith, said unto 
it : ' If I place thee within my fire, if I put thee 
into the flame of my forge-fire, thou wilt become 
arrogant, thou wilt wax strong, thou wilt spread 



The Healing of Wainamoinen, 163 

terror about thee, thou wilt sla}' thy brother, 
thou wilt kill the son of th}- mother.'. . . Then 
the Iron within the foi'ge fires, under the blows 
of the hammer, sware this oath : * I have trees to 
rend, hearts of stone to gnaw ; no ! never will I 
slaj^ m3' brother, never will I kill the son of my 
mother.'. . . Then did Ilmarinnen soften the Iron 
within the heart of the furnace, and shape it upon 
the anvil. But ere dipping it into the water, he 
tested with his tongue, he tasted with his palate, 
the creative juices of Steel, the water that gives 
hardness unto Iron. And he cried : ' This water 
is powerless to create Steel, to harden Iron. O 
Mehilainen, bird of Hiisi ! O Herlihainen, my 
bird-friend ! fly hither upon thine agile wings ; 
fly over the marshes, over the lands, over the 
straits of the ocean ! bring me honey upon thy 
feathers ; bear to me upon thy tongue the honey 
of seven meadow-stalks, of six flower-pistils, for 
the Steel I am going to make, for the Iron I wish 
to harden.'. . . But Herlihainen, the evil bird of 
Hiisi the Evil, brought the venom of blood, the 
black juices of a worm that his lizard-eyes had 
seen, the hidden poison of the toad ; and he gave 
these to Ilmarinnen for the Steel which was being 
prepared, the Iron that was to be tempered. And 
suddenly the Iron quivered with rage ; it growled ; 



164 The Healing of Wainamoinen, 

it moved ; its oath was forgotten ; like a dog it 
swallowed its own oath, and it slew its brother, it 
murdered the son of its mother. Even now it 
plunges into flesh, bites the knees of men, rages 
so that blood flows and flows and overflows in 
vast torrents." 

The old man roared from the recess of the 
hearth: "Now I know the origin of Iron, the 
latal destiny of Steel ! " And to his memory 
came back the Original Words, the great Words 
of Blood ; and he cursed the Iron with magical 
curses, and quelled with caressing speech the 
panic of the fleeing blood. And the hurt of the 
Iron ceased, and the red torrent stayed its flowing. 

Then the old man took within his fingers the 
extremities of the veins, and counted them, and 
uttered the magical prater : — 

'■'' All fair is she, the Goddess of Yeins, — 
Suonetar, the beneficent Goddess of Veins. Mar- 
vdloushj doth she sjnn the veins of men with her 
beautiful spindle, tcith her distaff of brass, with 
her spinning-icheel of iron. . . . Come, O Goddess 
of Veins! come unto me! I invoke thy succor., 
I call thy name! . . . Bring hither in tliy bosom 
a roll of ruddy flesJi, a blue skein of veins, that 
tJie wound may be filed, tliat the ends of the 
veins may be tied!^^ . . . 



The Healing of Wainamo'inen. 165 

And suddenly the hurt of Wainamoinen was 
healed : the tlesh became firmer than before ; the 
severed veins were retied, the severed muscles 
rejoined, the broken bones rcknit. 

And man}' other wonderful things said and 
done b}' the old man within the recess of the 
hearth are told of in the Fourth Rune of the 
ancient Kalewala. 




■J 



STORIES OF MOSLEM LANDS. 



BOUTIMAR, THE DOYE. 



. . . Beifond the seas which are known roar the waters of that 
Tenebrous Ocean that is iwlnown to mortals. There the lonr/ 
breakers chant an eternal hymn, in tones tinlike to the voices of 
other seas. And in that ocean there is an island, and in that 
island the Fountain of Youth unceasingly bnbJJes up from the 
niifstic caverns; and it was that fountain which Kinrj Alexander 
the Two-Horned, vainly sour/ht. Only his general, the Prophtt 
Khader, found it, lohereby he became immortal. And of other 
mortals Solomon only beheld the waters of that fountain, according 
to the Persian legend icritten in the nine hundredth year of the 
Ilejira, by the goldsmith of language, Hossein ben Ali, also called 
El Vailz ii'l Kashiji. And it may be found in the Anvari 
SoiiEiLi, ivhich are " The Lights of Canopus." . . . 

In the Name of the Most Merciful God ! ... I 
have heard this tradition of Solomon, the unparal- 
leled among kiugs, for whom all Genii, and Peris, 
and men, and beasts of earth, and l)irds of air, 
and creatures of the deep begirt the loins of their 
souls with the girdle of obedience, and whose 



170 Boutimar, the Dove, 

power was measurable onl}" by the hoofs of the 
horse of the Zeph^T, " whose morning course is a 
month's journe}', and whose evening course is also 
equal to a month's journey, upon the swiftest of 
earthly steeds." 

. . . Now, Solomon being once enthroned upon 
the summit of the mightiest of mountains, which 
3'et bears his name, — the mountain at once over- 
looking the plains of Iran and the kingdoms of 
India, — all the creatures of the universe gath- 
ered to do him honor. The birds of heaven 
formed a living canopy above him, and the spirits 
of air ministered unto him. And, as a mist ris- 
ing from the earth, a perfumed cloud shaped 
itself before him ; and from out the cloud reached 
a hand, fairer than moonlight, holding a diamond 
cup in which a strange water made jewel-glimmer- 
ings, while a voice sweeter than music spake to 
him from out the cloud, saying: "The Creator 
of all — be His nature forever glorified and His 
power forever honored ! — hath sent me to thee, 
O Solomon, with this cup containing the waters 
of 3^outh and of life without end. And He hath 
desired thee to choose freel}- whether thou wilt 
or wilt not drink of this draught from the Foun- 
tain of Youth. Therefore consider well, O Solo- 
mon ! Wilt thou drink hereof, and live divinely 



Boutimar, the Dove, 171 

immortal through ages everlasting, or wilt thou 
rather remain within the prison of huraanitj^? 
... I wait." 

Tlien a deep silence brooded above the place ; 
for Solomon dreamed upon these words, while 
the perfumed cloud stirred not, and the white 
hand motionlessly offered tlie jewel-cup. And so 
dreaming, he said unto his own heart: " Surely 
the gold of life is good wherewith to purchase 
many things at the great market of the Resur- 
rection ; the plain of life is a rich soil wherein to 
plant the spice-trees of eternal felicit}' ; and joy- 
less is the black repose of death. . . . Yet must I 
ask counsel of the Genii, and the Peris, and the 
wisest of men, and the beasts of earth, and the 
birds of air, before I may resolve to drink." 

Still the moon-white hand offered the scintillat- 
ing cup, and the perfumed cloud changed not. 
Then the Genii, and the Peris, and the wisest of 
men, and the beasts of earth, and the birds of 
heaven, all speaking with one voice of agreement, 
prayed him that he should drink, inasmuch as the 
well-being of the world reposed upon his living 
wisdom, and the happiness of all creatures was 
sustained b}' the circle of his life as a jewel held 
within the setting of a ring of gold. 

So that Solomon indeed put out his hand, and 



172 Boutimar, the Dove. 

took the cup fiom the luminous fingers ; and the 
fingers withdrew figain into tlie odorous cloud. 
AVondrous were the lights within the water ; and 
there was a glow of rosiness unbroken all about 
tlie cup, as of the sempiternal dawn in those isl- 
ands beyond the Ocean of Shadows, where the 
sun rises never above the east and there is 
neither night nor da}-. But hesitating 3et once 
more before he drank, he qnestioned again the 
creatures ol' the universe, asking : " O ye admin- 
istering Genii and Peri beings, ye wisest among 
wise men, ye creatures also of air and of earth, 
say if there be absent from this assembly even 
one representative of all over whom I hold 
dominion ! " 

And they replied : " Master, only Boutimar is 
not here, — Boutimar the wild dove, most loving 
of all living creatures." 

Then Solomon sent Hudh-hudh to seek the wild 
dove, — Iludh hudh, the bird of gold, created by 
the witchcraft of Balkis, Queen of Sheba, the sor- 
ceress of sorceresses ; and the golden bird brought 
back with him Boutimar, the wild dove, most lov- 
ing of all living creatures. Then it was tliat Solo- 
mon repeated the words of the song which he had 
written: " O m}' dove that dwellest in the chfts 
of the rock, in the secret hiding-places of the 



Jjoutimar, the Dove. 173 

stairs, let mc see thy face, let mc hear th\^ voice ! 
... Is it meet tliat thy lord, Solomon, shall drink 
of the waters of youth and know the bliss of 
earthly immortality? " 

Tlien tlie wild dove, speaking in the tongue of 
birds known to Solomon only among mortals, 
asked the prophet-king, saying: "How shall a 
creature of air answer the source of wisdom? how 
may so feeble a mind advise tin' supernal intel- 
ligence? Yet, if I must counsel, let mc ask thee, 
O Solomon, whether the Water of Life brought 
hither by this perfumed spirit be for thee alone, or 
for all with whom thy heart might incline thee to 
share it?" 

But Solomon answered : " It hath been sent to 
only me, nor is there enough within the cup for 
an}' other." 

"O prophet of God!" answered Boutiniar, in 
the tongue of birds, " how couldst thou desire to 
be living alone, when each of thy friends and of 
tli\' counsellors and of thy children and of th}' 
servants and of all who loved thee were counted 
with the dead? For all of these must surely 
drink the bitter waters of death, though thou 
shouldst drink the Water of Life. Wherefore 
desire everlasting youth, when the face of the 
world itself shall be wrinkled Avith age, and the 



174 Boutimar, the Dove, 

e3'es of the stars shall be closed by the black fin- 
gers of Azrael? When the love thou hast sung 
of shall have passed awa}' like a smoke of frank- 
incense, when the dust of the heart that beat 
ajzainst thine own shall have Ions; been scattered 
by the four winds of heaven, when the eyes that 
looked for thy coming shall have become a mem- 
ory, when the voices grateful to thine ear shall 
have been eternally stilled, when thy life shall be 
one oasis in a universal waste of death, and thine 
eternal existence but a recognition of eternal ab- 
sence, — wilt thou indeed care to live, though the 
wild dove perish when its mate cometh not? " 

And Solomon, without reply, silently put out 
his arm and gave back the cup, so that the white 
hand came forth and took it, and withdrew into 
the odorous cloud, and the cloud dissolved and 
passed away forever. But upon the prophet- 
king's rich beard, besprinkled with powder of 
gold, there appeared another glitter as of clear 
dew, — the diamond dew of the heart, which is 
tears. 



The Son of a Bobber. 175 



THE SON OF A ROBBER. 

, . . A bud from the Rose-garden of the Gulistan, planted in 
the six hundred and fifty-sixth year of the llejira by the Magician 
0/ Speech, the Sheikh Moslih-Eddin Sadi of Shiraz, and arranged 
after eight divisions corresponding with the Eight Gates of Para- 
dise. . . . In the reign of the King of Kings, Abou-Bequer ben 
Sad, the Most Magnificent, Viceregent of Solomon, Shadow of 
the Most High God upon Earth. . . . In the Name of God the 
Most Merciful. 

... In those cla3's there were robbers who 
dwelt in the mountain regions of the land, hav- 
ing fortresses above the eagle's nests, so that 
no arm}' might successfully assail them. Their 
name weighed as a terror upon the land, and 
they closed up the ways of the caravans, and 
wasted the valley's, and overcame even the king's 
troops by their strength and their fierceness, — 
all being mountain-born and worshippers of de- 
vouring fire. 80 the governors of the mountain 
provinces held council together, and devised cun- 
ning plans by which to allure the robbers from 
their inaccessible mountain dwelling, so as to 
destroy them utterl3\ 

Therefore it came to pass that while the rob- 
bers were pursuuig after a caravan, the bravest 



176 The Son of a Bobber. 

troops of the king concealed themselves in the 
deliles of the mountain, and there in silence 
awaited the return of the band with man}' rich 
spoils and captives of price for ransom. And 
"when the robljers returned at night, hard pressed 
by that greatest enemy of the wary, whose name 
is Sleep, the Persian soldiers set upon them, and 
smote them, and bound their arms behind tlieir 
backs, and dravc them as a herd of wild sheep 
into the cit}'. So the}' were brought into the 
presence of the king. 

And the king commended the wisdom of the 
governors of the provinces, saying: "Had 3'e 
not thus prevailed against them by craft, the 
strength of the robbers might have waxed with 
each day of immunit}', until it would have been 
beyond our power to destro}' them. The spring 
ma}' be closed at its mouth with a small cover- 
ing ; but when it shall have been swollen to a 
river by long flowing, a man may not cross its 
current even upon the back of an elephant. . . . 
Let eacli and all of these prisoners be forthwith 
put to death as robbers are put to death under 
our law." 

But among these robbers there was a youth 
slender and sha[)ely as a young palm ; and the 
fruit of his adolescence was yet unripe, the ver- 



The Son of a Bobber, 17T 

dure of the rose-garden of his cheeks had scarce!}- 
begun to bud. And by reason of the beaut}' of 
the boy, a kindly vizier bowed his white beard be- 
fore the steps of the throne, and kissed the foot- 
stool of the king, and prayed him with words 
of intercession : " Hear the prayer of a slave, O 
Master of the World, Axis of the Circle of Time, 
Shadow upon Earth of the Most High God ! . . . 
This child hath never eaten of the fruit of life, 
never hath he enjoyed the loveliness of the flower 
of youth. . . . O Master of Kings, thy slave hopes 
that in thy universal generosity and boundless 
bounty, thou wilt impose upon th}' slave a fresh 
obligation of gratitude, by sparing the life of 
this child.". . . 

Kindly was the king's heart, but his mind was 
keen also and clear as edge of diamond ; and he 
knitted his brows because the discourse seemed 
to him unwise, and therefore pleased him not: 
''O vizier, dost thou not know that the influ- 
ence of the good can make no impression upon 
the hearts of those whose origin is evil? Hast 
thou not heard it said that the willow givetli no 
fruit, however fertilizing the rain of heaven? 
Shall we extinguish a fire, and leave charcoal 
embers alight? shall we destroy only the adult 
viper, and spare her young? It is better that 
12 



178 The Son of a Robber, 

these people be utterly destroyed, root and 
branch, race and name". . . 

But the aged vizier, bowing respectfnll}^ again 
pra3'ed the king, jiisth' commending the wisdom 
of his words, but seeking exceptions and para- 
bles from the sayings of the wise and the tra- 
ditions of the prophets : ' ' The words of the 
Successor of Solomon are wisdom supreme to 
thy slave ; and were this boy indeed raised 
lip by the wicked, he would surely become as 
they. Yet thy slave believes that were he edu- 
cated only b}' the best of men, he might be- 
come most virtuous. Nor would thy slave spare 
aught requisite to adorn the boy's heart and 
to make blossom the garden of his mmd. . . . 
The prophetical tradition saith : There is no 
child born of icoman that is not naturally born 
into Islatn^ though his father and mother might 
afterward make him a Jeva^ a Christian^ or a 
Gheber. . . . And even the dog Kitmir, that fol- 
lowed and guarded the Seven Holy Sleepers of 
Mecca, was able to enter Paradise b}' seizing with 
liis teeth the hem of their blessed robes.". . . 

Then many other ministers and rulers of prov- 
inces, unwisel}' bewitched by the beauty of the 
boy, united themselves with the vizier in potent 
intercession. The king's face moved not, and 



The Son of a Robber. 179 

the shadow remained upon it ; but he answered : 
''I pardon the bo}' by reason of the weakness 
of your hearts, yet I perceive no advantage 
therein. O vizier, bear in mind tliat the benefi- 
cent rains of heaven give radiance to the splen- 
dors of the tulip and strength to the venom of 
serpent-plants. Remember well that the vilest 
eneni}' may not be despised, and that the stream 
now too shallow for the fish ma}' so swell as to 
cany awa}' the camel with his burthen.". . . 

But the vizier, weeping with joy, took the boy 
home, and clothed him and fed him, and brought 
him up as his own sons and as the sons of princes. 
Masters he procured for him, to make him learned 
in the knowledge of tongues and of graces and 
of military accomplishments, — in the arts of arch- 
er}' and sword- pla}' and horsemanship, in singing 
and in the musical measurement of speech, in 
courtes}' and truth, above all things, and those 
high qualities desirable in the service of the King 
of Kings upon earth. So strong and beautiful 
he grew up that the gaze of all e3'es followed 
whithersoever lie moved, even as the waves all 
turn their heads to look upon the moon ; and 
all, save only the king, smiled upon him. But 
the king onl}' frowned when he stood before 
him, and paid no heed to the compliments ut- 



180 The Son of a Bobber. 

terecl concerning the 3'oung man. One cla}', the 
vizier, in the pride of his happiness, said to 
the king: " Beliold ! by the work of tli}^ slave, 
the boy hath been reclaimed from the wa^'s 
of his fathers ; the fountain of his mind hath 
been opened by wise teachers, and the garden of 
his heart blossoms with the flowers of virtuous 
desire." 

But the king onh' laughed in his beard, and 
said: " O vizier, the 3'oung of the wolf will al- 
ways be a wolf, even though he be brought up 

with the children of a man." 

* 
* * 

. . . And when the time of two winters had 
dimmed the recollection of the king's words, it 
came to pass at last that the 3'oung man, riding 
out alone, met with a band of mountain robbers, 
and felt his heart moved toward them. The}^, 
also, knowing his race b}' the largeness and fierce- 
ness of his ej'es, and the eagle-curve of his nos- 
trils, and the signs of the wild blood that made 
lightnings in his veins, were attracted to him, and 
spake to him in the mountain-tongue of his fa- 
thers. And all the fierceness of his fathers returned 
upon him, with longings for the wind- voices of the 
peaks, and the madness of leaping water, and the 
sleeping-places above the clouds where the eagles 



A Legend of Love, 181 

hatched their young, and the secrets of the un- 
known caverns, and the altar of Ilickering fire. . . . 
So .that he made compact with them ; and, treach- 
erously returning, slew the aged vizier together 
with his sons, and robbed the palace, and fled to 
the mountains, where he took refuge in his father's 
ancient fortress, and became a leader of outlaws. 
And thc}^ told the tale to the king. 

Then the king, wondering not at all, laughed 
bitterly and said: "O ye wise fools! how can a 
good sword be wrought from bad iron? how ma}' 
education change the hearts of the wicked ? Doth 
not the same rain which nourisheth the rose also 
nourish the worthless shrubs that grow in salty 
marshes ? How shall a salty waste produce nard ? 
Verily, to do good unto the evil is not less blame- 
worthy than to do evil unto the good.'* 



A LEGEXD OF LOVE. 

DJemil the Azra said: " While I lice, vuj heart will love 
thee ; and when I shall be no viore, still will mj Shadow follow 
tliy Shadow athwart the tombs."". . . 

Tiiou hast perchance beheld it, — the strong 
white city climbing by terraces far up the moun- 



182 A Legend of Love, 

tain-side, with palms swaying in the blue above 
its citadel towers, and the lake- waters damas- 
cened by winds, reflecting, all-quiveringl}', its 
Arabian gates and the golden words of the 
Prophet shining upon entablatures, and tlie 
mosque-domes rounded like eggs of the Rok, 
and the minarets from which the voice of the 
muezzin comes to the faithful with djing red- 
ness of sunset: "0 3'e who are about to sleep, 
commend your souls to Him who never 
sleeps ! " 

. . .Therein also dwelt man}' Christians, — ma}^ 
their bones be ground and the names of them for- 
ever blotted out ! Yea ; all save one, whose name 
I have indeed forgotten. (But our master the 
Prophet hath written the name ; and it hath not 
been forgotten b}^ Him who never forgets, — 
though it be the name of a woman !) Now, hard 
by the walls of the city there is a place of sepul- 
chre for good Moslems, in which thou mayst see 
two graves, the foot of one being set against 
the foot of the other ; and upon one of these 
is a monument bearing a turban, while the form 
of the tumular}' stone upon the other hath onl}^ 
flowers in relief, and some letters of an obliterated 
name, wherefore thou mightst know it to be 
the grave of a woman. And there are cjpress- 



A Legend of Love, 183 

trees more ancient tlian Islam, making darkness 
like a summer's night about the place. 

* * 
. . . Slender she was as the tulip upon its stalk, 
and in walking her feet seemed kisses pressed 
upon the ground. But hadst thou beheld her 
face unveiled, and the whiteness of her teeth be- 
tween her brown lips wMien she smiled ! ... He 
was likewise in the summer of his jouth ; and 
his love was like the love of the Beni-Azra told of 
by Sahid Ben-Agba. But she being a Christian 
maiden and he being a good Mussulman, the}^ could 
not converse together save by stealth ; nor could 
either dare to let the matter become known unto 
the parents of the othei;. For he could not indeed 
make himself one of the infidel — whose posterity 
may God blot out ! — neither could she, through 
fear of her people, avow the faith of the Prophet ! 
. . . Only through the lattice of her window could 
she betimes converse with him ; and with the love 
of each other it came to pass that both fell griev- 
ousl}' ill. As to the 3'outh, indeed, his sickness 
so wrought upon him that his reason departed, 
and he long remained as one mad. Then at 
last, recovering, he departed to another place, 
even to the city of Damascus, — not that he 
might so forget what he could not wish to 



184 yl Legend of Love. 

forget, but that his strength might return to 
him. 

* * 

Now the parents of the maiden were rich, while 
the 3*outh was poor. And when the lovers had 
contrived to send letters one unto the other, she 
sent to him a hundred dinars, begging him, as 
he loved her, that he should seek out an artist 
in that cit}^ and have a likeness of himself painted 
for her that she might kiss it. " But knowest 
thou not, beloved," he wrote, " that it is contrar}^ 
unto our creed ; and in the Last Da}' what wilt 
thou say unto God when lie shall demand of 
thee to give life unto the image thou hast had 
wrought? " But she replied : "In the Last Da}', 
O my beloved, I shall answer. Thou knowest, O 
Most Holy, that Thy creature may not create ; yet 
if it be Thy will to animate this image, I will for- 
ever bless Th}^ name, though Thou condemn me 
for having loved more than mine own soul the 

fairest of living images Thou hast made.". . . 

* 

* * 

But it came to pass in time that, returning, 
he fell sick again in the city which I si)eak of; 
and l^ing down to die, he whispered into the 
ear of his friend: "Never again in this world 
shall I behold her w^iom my soul loveth ; and 



A Legend of Love, 185 

I much fear, if I die a Mussulman, lest I should 
not meet her in the other. Therefore I de- 
sire to abjure m}' faith, and to become a Chris- 
tian." And so he died. But we buried him 
among the faithful, forasmuch as his mind must 
have been much disturbed when he uttered those 
words. 

And the friend of the 3'outh hastened with all 
speed to the place where the young girl dwelt, 
she being also at the point of death, so grievous 
was the pain of her heart. Then said she to him : 
" Never again in this world shall I behold liim 
that m}' soul lovcth ; and I much fear if I die a 
Christian, lest I should not meet him in the other. 
Therefore I give testimonv that there is no other 
God but God, and that Mahomet is the prophet 
of God ! " 

Then the friend whispered unto her what liad 
happened, to her great astonishment. But she 
only answered: ^'-Bear me to where he rests; 
and hury me with my feet toward his feet^ that 
I may rise face to face with him at the Day of 
Judgment ! " 



186 The King's Justice, 



THE KING'S JUSTICE. 

. . . Praise to the Creator of all, the secret of whose existence is 
unknown ; who hath marked all His creatures with an imprintt 
though there be no visible imprint of Himself; ivho is the Soul of 
the soul ; who is hidden in that which is hidden / . . . Though the 
firmament open its myriad million eyes in the darkness, it may 
not behold Him. Ytt does the Sun nightly bow his face of flame 
below the west, in worship ; inonthly the Moon faints away in as- 
tonishment at His greatness. . . . Eternally the Ocean lifts its thou- 
sand waves to proclaim His glory ; Fire seeks to rise to Him ; 
Winds whisper of His mystery. . . . And in the balance of His 
justice even a sigh hath weight. . . , 

In the first recital of the First Book of the Gu- 
listan, treating of the Conduct of Kings, it is said 
that a Persian monarch condemned with his own 
lips a prisoner of war, and commanded that he be 
put to death. 

And the prisoner, being still in the force of 
youth and the fulness of strength, thought within 
his heart of all the da3-s he might otherwise have 
lived, of all the beauty he might have caressed, 
of all the happiness he might have known, of 
all the hopes nnbudded that might have ripened 
into blossom for him. Thus regretting, and see- 
inoc before him onlv the blind and moonless night 
of death, and considering that the fair sun would 



The King's Justice, 187 

never rise for him again, he cursed the king in 
the language of malediction of his own coun- 
trj', loudly an^l with mad passion. For it is a 
proverb : " Whosoever washeth his hands of life, 
truly saith all that is within his heart." 

Now the king, hearing the vehemence of the 
man, but nowise understanding the barbaric tongue 
w^hich he spoke, questioned his first vizier, ask- 
ing, "What saith the dog?" 

But the vizier, being a kindl3'-hearted man, an- 
swered thus : " O Master, he repeateth the words 
of the Holy Book, the words of the Prophet of 
God concerning those who repress their anger and 
pardon injury, the beloved of Allah." 

And the king, hearing and believing these words, 
felt his heart moved within him ; the fire of his 
anger died out, and the spirit of pity entered into 
him, so that he revoked his own command and 
forgave the man, and ordered that he should be 
set free. 

But there was another vizier also with the king, 
a malevolent and cunning-e3'ed man, knowing all 
languages, and ever seeking to obtain elevation 
by provoking the misfortune of others. This 
vizier, assuming therefore an austere face like to 
that of a prating dervish, loudly exclaimed : "III 
doth it become trusted ministers of a king, men 



188 The Kings Justice. 

of honorable pliice, such as we are, to utter in the 
presence of our master even so much as one syl- 
lable of untruth. Know, therefore, O Master, 
that the first vizier hath untruthfull}' interpreted 
the prisoner's words ; for that wretcli uttered no 
single pious word, but evil and blasphemous lan- 
guage concerning thee, cursing his king in the 
impotency of his rage." 

But the khig's brows darkened when he heard 
the words ; and turning terrible eyes upon tlie 
second vizier, he said unto him : ' ' More pleasant 
to my ears was the lie uttered hy m}- first vizier, 
than the truth spoken by thy lips ; for he indeed 
uttered a lie with a good and merciful purpose, 
whereas thou didst speak the truth for a wicked 
and malignant purpose. Better the lie told for 
righteous ends than the truth which provoketh 
evil ! Neitlier shall m}' pardon be revoked ; but 
as for thee, let me see thy face no more ! " 



t3> 



TRADITIONS EETOLD FROM THE 
TALMUD. 



A LEGEND OF RABBA. 



Which IS in the Gemara of the Berarhoth of Babylon. . . . Con- 
cerning the interpretation of dreams, it hath been said by Rabbi 
Benan : " There were in Jerusalem twenty four interpreters of 
dreams ; and I, having dreamed a dream, did ask the explana- 
tion thereof from each of the twenty four ; and, notwithstanding 
that each gave me a different interpretation, the words of all were 
fulfilled, even in conformity with the saying: * All dreams are 
accomplished according to the interpretation thereof.' ". . . We are 
Thine, King of all; Thine also are our dreams. . . . 

Mighty was the knowledge of the great Rabba, 
to whom the m3'steries of the Book Yetzirah were 
known in such wise, that, being desirous once to 
try his brother. Rabbi Zira, he did create out of 
dust a living man, and sent the man to Zira with 
a message in writing. But inasmuch as the 
man had not been born of woman, nor had had 
breathed into him God's holy spirit of life, he 
could not speak. Therefore, when Rabbi Zira 



192 A Legend of Rahhcu 

bad spoken to him and observed tbat be did not 
repl}', tbe Rabbi whispered into his ear: " Thou 
wert begotten by witchcraft ; return to thy form 
of dust ! " And the man crumbled before his 
sight into shapelessness ; and the wind bore the 
sliapelessness away, as smoke is dissipated by a 
breath of storm. But Rabbi Zira marvelled greatly 
at the power of the great Rabba. 

Kot so wise, nevertheless, was Rabba as was 
Bar-IIedia in the interpretation of dreams ; and 
Bar-Hedia was consulted by the multitudes in 
those parts. But he interpreted unto them good 
or evil only as they paid him or did not pa3' him. 
According to man v Rabbonim, to dream of a well 
signifieth peace ; to dream of a camel, the pardon 
of iniquities ; to dream of goats, a 3'ear of fertil- 
it}' ; to dream of any living creature, save onh' 
the monkey and the elephant, is good ; and these 
also are good if the}^ appear harnessed or bound. 
But Bar-Hedia interpreted such good omens in 
the contrary' way, unless well paid b}' the dreamer ; 
and it was thought passing strange that the evils 
which he predicted never failed of accomplish- 
ment. 

Now one day the Rabbonim Aba}'! and Rabba 
went to consult Bar-Hedia the interpreter, seeing 



A Legend of Rabha, 193 

that they had both dreamed the same dream. 
Abayi paid him one zouz^ but Eabba paid him 
nothing. 

And the}^ asked Bar-IIedia, both together sa}'- 
ing : "Interpret unto us this dream which we 
have dreamed. Sleeping, it seemed to us that we 
beheld a scroll unrolled under a great light, and 
we did both read therein these words, which are 
in the fifth book of Moses: " Thine ox shall 
he slain before thine eyes^ and thou shall not eat 
thereof. . . . Thy sons and thy daughters shall 
be gicen unto another people. , . . Thotc shall 
carry much seed out into the fields and shall 
gatJter but little in.'' . . . 

Then Bar-IIedia, the interpreter, said to Abayi 
who had paid him one zouz : " For thee this 
dream bodeth good. The verse concerning the 
ox signifies thou wilt prosper so wondroush' that 
for very joy thou shalt be unable to eat. Th}' 
sons and daughters shall be married in other 
lands, so that thou wilt be separated from them 
without grief, knowing them to be virtuous and 
content. 

" But for thee, Rabba, who didst pay me noth- 
ing, this dream portendeth evil. Thou shalt be 
afllicted in such wise that for grief thou canst not 
eat ; thy daughters and sons shall be led into cap- 
13 



194 A Legend of Rahha, 

tivit3\ Aba}'! shall carru out much seed into the 
field; but tlie second part of the verse, Thou 
shalt gather hut little^ refers to thee." 

Then they asked him again, saying: "But in 
our dream we also read these verses, thus dis- 
posed : Thou shalt have olive trees ^ and thou 
shalt not a/wint thyself vyith oil. . . . All the peo- 
l^le of the earth shall see that thou art ccdled by 
the name of the Lord., and they shall be afraid 
of thee:' 

Then said Bar-Hedia : " For thee, Rabbi Abayi, 
the words signify that thou shalt be prosperous 
and much honored ; but for thee, Rabba, Avho 
didst pa\' me nothing, they portend evil only. 
Thou shalt have no profit in th\' labor ; thou 
shalt be falsel}' accused, and by reason of the 
accusation, avoided as one guilt}' of crime." 

Still Rabba, speaking now for himself alone, 
continued: "But I dreamed also that I beheld 
the exterior door of my dwelling fall down, and 
that my teeth fell out of my mouth. And I 
dreamed that I saw two doves fly away, and two 
radishes growing at my feet." 

Again Bar-Hedia answered, saying : " For thee, 
Rabba, who didst pay me nothing, these things 
signify evil. The falling of thine outer door au- 
gurs the death of thy wife ; the loss of thy teeth 



A Legend of Rahha, 105 

signifies that thy sons and daughters shall like- 
wise die in their youth. The flight of the doves 
means that thou shalt be divorced from two otlier 
wives, and the two radishes of thy dream fore- 
tell that thou wilt receive two blows which thou 
may est not return." 

And all things thus foretold by Bar-IIedia came 
to pass. So that Rabba's wife died, and that he 
was arrested ui)on suspicion of having robbed the 
treasury of the king, and that the pc^^ople shunned 
him as one guilty. Also while seeking to sepa- 
rate two men fighting, who were blind, they struck 
him twice unknowingly, so tliat he could not re- 
sent it. And misfortunes came to Rabba even as 
to Job ; yet he could resign himself to all save 
only the death of his young wife, the daughter of 
Rabbi Ilisda. 

* * 

At last Rabba paid a great sum to Bar-IIedia, 
and told him of divers awful dreams which he had 
had. This time Bar-Hedia predicted happiness 
for him, and riches, and lionors, all of which came 
to pass according to the words of the interpreter, 
whereat Rabba marvelled exceedinglj'. 

Now it happened while Rabba and Bar-Hedia 
were voyaging one da}' together, that Bar-Hedia 
let fall his magical book, ])y whose aid he uttered 



196 A Legend of Babba, 

all his interpretations of dreams ; and Rabba, 
hastih' picking it up, perceived these words in 
the beginning : All dreams shall he fidfJled ac- 
cording to the interpretation of the interpreter. 
So that Rabba, discovering the wicked witchcraft 
of the man, cnrscd him, saying: '•'•Raca! for all 
else could I forgive thee, save for the death of my 
beloved wife, the daughter of Rabbi Hisda ! O 
thou impious magician ! take thou mj' maledic- 
tion ! " . . . 

Thereupon Bar-ITedia, terrified, went into a^oI- 
untary exile among the Romans, vainly hoping 
thus to expiate his sin, and flee from the consum- 
ing power of Rabba's malediction. 

* * 

Thus coming to Rome, he interpreted dreams 
daily before the gate of the king's treasury ; and 
he did much evil, as he was wont to do before. 
One da}' the king's treasurer came to him, saving : 
" I dreamed a dream in which it seemed to me 
that a needle had entered my finger. Interpret 
me this dream." 

But Bar-IIedia said only, " Give me a zouz ! " 
And because he would not give it, Bar-IIedia told 
him nothing. 

And another day the treasurer came, saying : 
*' I dreamed a dream in which it seemed that 



A Legend of Rahha, 197 

worms devoiircfl two of m}^ fingers. Interpret 
me this dream." 

But Bar-Hedia said onh', " Give me a zonz ! " 
And because he would not give it, Bar-Hedia told 
him nothing. 

Yet the third time the treasurer came, sa3'ing : 
'' I dreamed a dream in which it seemed to me that 
worms devoured my whole right hand. Interpret 
me this dream." 

Then Bar-Hedia mocked him, saying: "Go, 
look thou at the king's stores of silk intrusted to 
thy keeping ; for worms have by this tim.e de- 
stroyed them utterly.". . . And it was even as 
Bar-Hedia said. 

Thereupon the king waxed wroth, and ordered 
the decapitation of the treasurer. But he, pro- 
testing, said: "Wherefore slay only me, since 
the Jew that was first aware of the presence of 
the worms, said nothing concerning it?" 

So they brought in Bar-Hedia, and questioned 
him. But he mocked the treasurer, and said : 
' ' It was because thou wast too avaricious to 
pay me one zouz that the king's silk hath been 
destro3'ed.'* 

Whereupon the Romans, being filled with Any, 
bent down the tops of two young cedar trees, 
one toward the other, and fastened them so 



198 The Mockers. 

with a rope. And they bound Bar-Hedia's right 
leg to one tree-top, and his left leg to the other ; 
and thereafter severed the rope suddenly with a 
sword. And the two cedars, as suddenly leaping 
back to their natural positions, tore asunder the 
bod}' of Bar-Hedia into equal parts, so that his 
entrails were spilled out, and even his skull, 
splitting into halves, emptied of its brain. 

For the malediction of the great Rabba was 
upon him. 



THE MOCKERS. 

, . . A tradition of Rabbi Simon hen Yochai,ivhich is preserved 
vnthiii the Treatise Sheviith of the Talmud Yerushalmi. . . . 
Is it not said in the Sanhedrin that there are four classes icho do 
not enter into the presence of the Holi/ One ? — blessed be He I — 
and among ihesefour are scorners reckoned. . . . 

Concerning Rabbi Simon ben Yochai many 
marvellous things are narrated, both in that Tal- 
mud which is of Babylon and in that which is of 
Jerusalem. And of these things none are more 
wonderful than the tradition regardiug the fashion 
after which he was wont to rebuke the impudence 
of mockers. 

It was this same Rabbi Simon ben Yochai, who 



The Mockers. 199 

was persecuted by the Romans, because lie had 
made little of their mighty works, saying that 
they had constructed roads only to move their 
wicked armies more rapidly, that they had builded 
bridges only to colhict tolls, that they had erected 
aqueducts and baths for their own pleasure only, 
and had established markets for no other end than 
the sustenance of iniquity. For these words Rabb 
Simon was condemned to die ; wherefore he, to- 
gether with his holy son, fled away, and they hid 
themselves in a cave. Therein they dwelt for 
twelve long years, so that their garments would 
have crumbled into dust had they not laid them 
aside saving only at the time of prayer ; and they 
buried themselves up to their necks in the sand 
during their hours of slumber and of meditation. 
But within the cave the Lord created for them a 
heavenly carob-tree, which daily bore fruit for 
their nourishment; and the Holy One — blessed 
}yQ He ! — also created unending summer within 
the cave, lest they should be afflicted by cold. 
So they remained until the Prophet Elijah de- 
scended from heaven to tell them that the Em- 
peror of the Romans had died the death of the 
idolatrous, and that there remained for them no 
peril in the world. But during those many years 
of meditation, the holiness of the Rabbi and of 



200 The Mockers. 

his son had bGCome as the holiness of tliose who 
stand with faces wing-veiled about the throne of 
God ; and the world had become unfitted for their 
sojourn. Coming forth from the cave, therefore, 
a fierce anger filled thern at the sight of men 
ploughing and reaping in the fields ; and the}^ 
cried out against them, saying : " Lo ! these peo- 
ple think only of the things of earth, and neglect 
the things of eternit3\" 

Then were the lands and the people toiling 
thereupon utterly consumed b}" the fire of their 
eyes, even as Sodom and Gomorrah were blasted 
from the face of the earth. But the Bath-Kol — 
the Voice of the Holy One — rebuked them from 
heaven, saying : " What ! have 3'e come forth only 
to destroy this world which I have made? Get 
ye back within the cavern ! " And thej^ returned 
into the cave for another twelve months, — mak- 
ing in all thirteen years of sojourn therein, — until 
the Bath-Kol spake again, and uttered their par- 
don, and bade them return into the world. All 
of which is written in the Treatise Shabbath of 

Seder Moed of the Talmud Babli. 

* 

* * 

Now in the Talmud Yerushalmi we are told 
that after Rabbi Simon ben Yochai had departed 
from the cave, he resolved to purify all the land 



The Mockers, 201 

of Tiberias. For while within tlie cave, his body 
had become sore smitten witli ulcers, and the 
waters of Tiberias had healed them. Even as ho 
had found purification in Tiberias, so also, he 
declared, should Tiberias find in him purification. 
And these things he said within the hearing of 
mockers, who feared his eyes, yet who among 
themselves laughed him to scorn. 

But Rabbi Simon sat down before the city of 
Tiberias, and he took lupines, and cut up the 
liipuies into atoms, and uttered OAcr them words 
whereof no living man save himself knew the in- 
terpretation. (For the meaning of such words is 
seldom known by men, seeing that but few arc 
known even by the Angels and the Demons.) 
Having done these things, the Rabbi arose and 
walked over the land, scattering the lupines about 
him as a sower scatters seed. And wherever the 
lupines fell, the bones of the dead arose from be- 
low and came to the surface of the ground, so 
that the peo[)le could take them away and bury 
them in a proper place. Thus was the ground 
purified, not onh' of the bones of the idolaters 
and the giants who erst dwelt in the place of 
promise, but likewise of the bones of all animals 
and living beings which had there died since the 
com in 2: of Israel. 



202 The Mockers. 

Now there was a certain wicked doubter, a 
Samaritan, who, desiring to bring confusion to 
llabbi Simon ben Yochai, secretl}' buried an un- 
clean corpse in a place already' purified. And 
tlie Samaritan came cunningly to Rabbi Simon, 
saying: " Methought thou didst purify such a 
spot in m}' field ; yd is there an unclean body 
there, — the bodj' of a man. Surely th}' wisdom 
hath failed thee, or mayhap tin* magic hath some 
defect in it ? Come thou with me ! " So he took 
with him Rabbi Simon, and dug up the ground, 
and showed to him the unclean corpse, and laughed 
in his beard. 

But Rabbi Simon, knowing b}' divine inspira- 
tion what had been done, fixed his e3'es upon the 
wicked face of the man, and said : " Verib', such 
a one as thou deserveth not to dwell among the 
living, but rather to exchange places with the 
dead ! " And no sooner had the words been ut- 
tered than the bod}' of the dead man arose, and 
his flesh became pure, and the life returned to his 
eyes and his heart ; while the wicked Samaritan 
became a filth}' corpse, so that the worms came 
from his nostrils and his ears. 

Yet, as he went upon his wa}', Rabbi Simon 
passed an inhabited tower without the cit}' ; and 
a voice from the upper chamber of the tower 



Esthers Choice, 203 

mocked him, crying aloud : " Hither comcth that 
Ijar-Yochai, who thinkcth himself al)le to purify 
Tiberias ! " Now the mocker was himself a most 
learned man. 

" I swear unto thee," answered Eabbl Simon, — 
*' I swear unto thee that Tiberias shall be made 
pure in spite of such as thou, and their mock- 
ings.'' 

And even as the holy Rabbi spoke, the mocker 
who stood within the chamber of the tower utterly 
crumbled into a heap of bones ; and from the 
bones a writhing smoke ascended, — the smoke 
of the wrath of the Lord, as it is written: "27ie 
anger of the Lord shall smoke!''. . . 



ESTHER'S CHOICE. 

A story of Rahhi Simon ben Yochai, u-lnrh is related in the 
hohf Midrash Shir-Hasirim of the hohj Midrashim. . . . Rear, 
Israel, the Lord our God is ONE! . . . 

In those days there lived in Si don, the mighty 
city, a certain holy Israelite possessing much 
wealth, and ha^Hng the esteem of all who knew 
him, even among the Gentiles. In all Sidon there 
was no man who had so beautiful a wife ; for the 



20-1 Esthers Choice. 

comeliness of her seemed like that of Sarah, whose 
loveliness illumined all the land of Egypt. 

Yet for this rich one there was no happiness : 
the or}' of the nursling had never been heard in 
his home, the sound of a child's A^oice had never 
made sunshine within his heart. And he heard 
voices of reproach betimes, saving : " Do not the 
Ivabbis teacli that if a man have lived ten years 
with his wife and have no issue, then he should 
divorce her, giving her the marriage portion pre- 
scribed by law ; for he may not have been found 
worth}' to have his race perpetuated by her?" . . . 
But there were others who spake reproach of 
the wife, believing that her beaiity had made her 
proud, and that her reproach was but the punish- 
ment of vainglor}'. 

And at last, one morning, Rabbi Simon ben 
Yochal was aware of two visitors within the ante- 
cliamber of his dwelling, the ricliest merchant of 
Sidon and his wife, greeting the hob' man with 
/Salem aleikoinn! Tlie Ilabbi looked not upon 
tlie woman's face, for to gaze even upon the heel 
of a woman is forbidden to holy men ; 3'et he felt 
the sweetness of her presence pervading all the 
house like the incense of the flowers woven by 
the hands of the Angel of Praj'er. And the Rabbi 
knew that she was weeping. 



Esthers Choice, 205 

Then the husband arose and spake : " Lo ! it is 
now more than a time of ten 3'ears since I was 
wedded to Esther, I being then twent}' j-ears of 
age, and desirous to ohny the teaching that he 
who remaineth unmarried after twentj' transgres- 
seth dail}' against God. Esther, thou knowest, 
O Rabbi, was tlie sweetest maiden in Sidon ; and 
to me she liath ever been a most loving and sweet 
wife, so that I could find no fault with Jier ; 
neither is there an}' guile in her heart. 

" I have since then become a rich Israelite ; the 
men of TyvQ know me, and the merchants of Car- 
thage swear b}' m}' name. I have mauy ships, 
beariug me ivor}' and gold of Ophir and jewels of 
great worth from tlie East ; I have vases of on3'x 
and cups of emeralds cuj-iousl}' wa-ought, and 
chariots and horses, — even so that no prince 
hath more than I. And this I owe to the bless- 
ing of the Holy One, — blessed be He! — and to 
Esther, my wife, also, who is a wise and valiant 
woman, and cunning in advising. 

" Yet, O Rabbi, gladlj' would I have given all 
my riches that I might obtain one son ! that I might 
be known as a father in Israel. The H0I3' One — 
blessed be He ! — hath not vouchsafed me this 
thing ; so that I liave thought me found unworth}' 
to have children b}' so fair and good a woman. 



206 Esthers Choice. 

I pra}' thee, therefore, that thou wilt give legal 
enactment to a bill of separation ; for I have re- 
solved to give Esther a bill of divorcement, and a 
goodly marriage portion also, that the reproach 
may so depart from us in the sight of Israel." 
* , 
And Kabbi Simon ben Yochai stroked thought- 
fully the dim silver of his beard. A silence as 
of the Shechinah fc41 upon the three. Faintly', 
from afar, came floating to their ears the sea- 
like murmuring of Sidon's commerce. . . . Then 
spake the Rabbi; and Esther, looking at him, 
thought that his e^'es smiled, although this hol}^ 
man was never seen to smile with his lips. Yet 
it may be that his eyes smiled, seeing into their 
hearts : " My son, it w^ould be a scandal in Israel 
to do as thou dost purpose, hastih' and without 
becoming announcement ; for men might imagine 
that Esther had not been a good wife, or thou a 
too exacting husband ! It is not lawful to give 
cause for scorn. Therefore go to thy home, make 
read}' a goodlj^ feast, and invite thither all thy 
friends and the friends of thy wife, and those 
who were present at thy wedding, and speak to 
them as a good man to good men, and let them 
understand wherefore thou dost this thing, and 
that in Esther there is no fault. Then return 



Esthers Choke. 207 

to me on the morrow, and I will grant thee the 

bill." 

* 

* * 

So a great feast was given, and man}' guests 
came ; among them, all who had attended the wed- 
ding of Esther, save, indeed, such as Azrael had 
led awa}' b}' the hand. Tliere was much good 
wine ; the meats smoked upon platters of gold, 
and cups of onj'x were placed at the elbow of each 
guest. And the husband spake lovingly to his 
wife in the presence of all, sa3-ing : " Esther, we 
have lived together loving!}' man}' years ; and if 
we must now separate, thou knowest it is not be- 
cause I do not love thee, but only because it hath 
not pleased the Most Holy to bless us with chil- 
dren. And in token that I love thee and wish 
thee all good, know that I desire thee to take 
away from my house whatever thou desirest, 
whether it be gold or jewels beyond price." 

* 

* * 

So the wine went round, and the night passed 
in mirth and song, until the heads of the guests 
grew strangely heavy, and there came a buzzing 
in their ears as of innumerable bees, and their 
beards ceased to wag with laughter, and a deep 
sleep fell upon them. 

Then Esther summoned her handmaids, and 



208 Esthers Choice, 

said to them : "Behold my husband sleeps heav- 
ily ! I go to the house of m^' father ; bear him 
thither also as he sleepeth." 

* 
* * 

And awaking in the morning the husband 
found himself in a strange chamber and in a 
strange house. But the sweetness of a woman's 
presence, and the ivor}" fingers that caressed his 
beard, and the softness of the knees that pillowed 
his head, and the glor}^ of the dark e^'es that 
looked into his own awakening, — these were not 
strange ; for he knew that his head w^as resting 
in the lap of Esther. And bewildered with the 
grief-born dreams of the night, he cried out, 
" AVoman, what hast thou done?" 

Then, sweeter than the voice of doves among 
the fig-trees, came the voice of Esther: "Didst 
thou not bid me, husband, that I sliould choose 
and take away from thy house whatsoever I most 
desired ? And I have chosen thee, and have brought 
thee hither, to my father's home, . . . loving thee 
more than all else in the world. AVilt thou drive 
me from thee now?" And he could not see her 
face for tears of love ; yet he heard her voice 
speaking on, — speaking the golden words of 
Ruth, which are so old yet so young to the hearts 
of all that love : ' ' Whithersoever thou shalt go, I 



Esthers Choice. 209 

will also go ; and ichither soever thou shalt dwells 
I also will dwell. And the Angel of Death only 
may part us ; for thou art all in all to me.". . . 

And in the golden sunlight at the doorway 
suddenly stood, like a statue of Babylonian sil- 
ver, the grand gray figure of Rabbi Simon ben 
Yochai, lifting his hands in benediction. 

'■'■Schmah Israel! — the Lord our God, who 
is One, bless ye with everlasting benediction ! 
Ma}' 3'our hearts be welded bj^ love, as gold with 
gold b\' the cunning of goldsmiths ! May the 
Lord, who coupleth and settcth the single in 
families, watch over ye ! The Lord make this 
valiant woman even as Rachel and as Lia, who 
built up the house of Israel ! And ye shall be- 
hold your children and your children's children 
in the House of the Lord ! " 

Even so the Lord blessed them ; and Esther 
became as the fruitful vine, and they saw their 
children's children in Israel. Forasmuch as it 
is written: '*He will regard the prayer of the 
destitute." 



14 



210 The Dispute in the Halacha. 



THE DISPUTE IN THE HALACHA. 

. . . Told of in the Book Bava-Metzia ; or, "The Middle Gate " 
of the IIulij Shas. . . . The Lord loveth the gates that are marked 
ivith the Ilalacha more than the synayogues and the schools. 

Now, in those days there was a dispute be- 
tween the Mishnic Doctors and Eabbi Eliezer 
concerning the legal cleanliness of a certain 
bake-oven, as is written in the Bava-Metzia of 
the Talmud. For while all the others held the 
oven to be unclean according to the Ilalacha, 
Rabbi Eliezer declared that it was clean ; and 
all their arguments he overthrew, and all their 
objections he confuted, although they would not 
suffer themselves to be convinced. Then did 
Rabbi Eliezer at last summon a carob-tree to 
bear witness to his interpretation of the law ; and 
the carob-tree uprooted itself, and rose in air with 
the clay trickling from its roots, and moved 
through air to the distance of four hundred yards, 
and replanted itself, trembling, in the soil. 

But tlie Doctors of the Mishna, being used to 
marvellous things, were little moved ; and they 
said: "We may not admit the testimony of a 
carob-tree. Shall a carob-tree discourse to us 



The Dispute in the Halacha, 211 

regarding the Halacha? Will a carob-tree teach 
us the law? " 

Then said Rabbi Eliezer to the brook that mut- 
tered its unceasing praj'er without: "Bear me 
witness, O thou running water ! " And the rivu- 
let changed the course of its current ; its waters 
receded, and, flowing back to their fountain-head, 
left naked the pebbles of their bed to dry under 
the sun. 

But the Disciples of the Sages still held to their 
first opinion, sa3'ing : "Shall a brook prattle to 
us of law ? Shall we hearken to the voice of run- 
ning w^ater rather than to the voice of the Holy 
One — blessed be He ! — and of His servant 
Moses?" 

Then Rabbi Eliezer, lifting his ej'es toward the 
walls above, bearing hoh^ words written upon 
them, cried out: "Yet bear me witness also, 
ye consecrated walls, that I have decided aright 
in this matter ! " And the walls quivered, bent 
inward, curved like a bellying sail in the moment 
of a changing wind, impended above the hands of 
the Rabbis, and would have fallen had not Rabbi 
Joshuah rebuked them, saying: "What is it to 
3'ou if the Rabbis do wrangle in the Halacha? 
Would ye crush us? Be 3'e still I " So the walls, 
obeying Rabbi Joshuah, would not fall ; but 



212 The Dispute in the Halacha* 

neither would the}' return to their former place, 
forasmuch as the}' obeyed Rabbi Eliezer also, — 
so that they remain toppling even unto this day. 

Then, seeing that their hearts were hardened 
against him even more than the stones of the 
building, Rabbi Eliezer cried out : "Ze^ theBath- 
Kol decide between us ! " Whereupon the college 
shook to its foundation ; and a Voice from heaven 
answered, saying: "What have ye to do with 
Rabbi Eliezer? for in all things the Halacha is 
even according to his decision ! " 

But Rabbi Joshuah stood upon his feet fearlessly 
in the midst, and said : '* It is not lawful that even 
a Voice from heaven should be regarded by us. 
For Thou, O God, didst long ago write down in 
the law which Thou gavest upon Sinai, saying, 
' Thou shalt follow the multitude.' " And they 
would not hearken unto Rabbi EUezer ; but they 
did excommunicate him, and did commit all his 
decisions regarding the law to be consumed with 
fire. 

[Now some have it that Rabbi Nathan testified 
that the Prophet Ehjah declared unto him that 
God Himself was deceived in tliis matter, and ac- 
knowledged error in His decision, saying: "My 
children have vanquished me ! my children have 
prevailed against me ! " But as we also know 



The Dispute in the Halacha. 213 

that in punishment for the excommunication of 
Rabbi Eliczer a third portion of all the baiic}^ 
and of the olives and of the wheat in the whole 
world was smitten with bhglit, we may well be- 
lieve that Rabbi Eliezer was not in error.] 

Now, while yet under sentence of excommuni- 
cation, Rabbi Eliezer fell grievously ill ; and the 
Rabbonim knew nothing of it. Yet such was his 
learning, that Rabbi Akiva and all the disciples 
of the latter came unto him to seek instruction. 
. . . Then Rabbi Eliezer, rising upon his elbow, 
asked them, "Wherefore came ye hither? " 

" We came that we might learn the Halacha," 
answered Akiva. 

" But w^hcrefore came ye not sooner? " 

And they answered, ^'Because we had not 
time." 

Then Rabbi Eliezer, feeling wroth at the reply, 
said to them also: " Verily, if ye die a natural 
death, I shall marvel greatly. And as for thee, 
Akiva, thy death shall be the worst of all ! It is 
well for thee that I do not give thee my maledic- 
tion, seeing thou hast dared to say that one may 
not have time to learn the law 1 " 

And Rabbi Eliezer, folding his arms upon his 
breast to die. continued: "Woe! 



214 The Dispute in the Halacha, 

woe unto these two arms of mine, that the}' are 
now even as two scrolls of the hiw rolled up, 
whereof the contents are hidden ! Had ye waited 
upon me before, ye might have learned many 
strange things; and now my knowledge must 
perish with me ! Much have I learned, and much 
have I taught, yet always without diminishing the 
knowledge of ray Rabbis b}^ even so much as 
the waters of the ocean might be diminished by 
the lapping of a dog ! ". . . 

And he continued to speak to them: " Xow, 
over and above all those things, I did expound 
three thousand Halachoth in regard to the grow- 
ing of Egyptian cucumbers ; and A'ct none save 
onl}' Rabbi Akiva ben Joseph ever asked me so 
much as one question regarding them ! . . . We 
were walking on the road between the fields, when 
he asked me to instruct him regarding Eg3'ptian 
cucumbers. Then I uttered but one word ; and, 
behold ! the fields forthwith became full of Egyp- 
tian cucumbers. He asked me concerning the 
gathering of them. I uttered but one word ; and, 
lo ! all the cucumbers did gather themselves into 
one place before me.". . . 

And even as Rabbi Eliezer was thus speaking, 
his soul departed from him ; and Rabbi Akiva 
with all his disciples mourned bitterly for him 



The Dispute in the Halacha, 215 

and for themselves, seeing thej' had indeed come 
too late to learn the law. 



But the prediction of Rabbi Eliezer was ful- 
filled. . . . For it came to pass, when Rabbi 
Akiva had become a most holy man, and mar- 
vellously learned, that the Romans forbade the 
teaching of the law in Israel ; and Rabbi Akiva 
persisted in teaching it publicl}^ to the people, 
saying : " If we suffer so much by the will of the 
H0I3' One — blessed be He ! — while studying the 
law, how much indeed shall we suffer while neg- 
lecting it ! " 

So they led him out to execution, and tortured 
him with tortures unspeakable. Now it was just 
at that hour when the prayer must be said : 
'•''IIea)\ Israel! the Lord our God is One." 

And even while they were tearing his flesh with 
combs of iron. Rabbi Akiva uttered the hoi}' words 
and died. And there came a mighty Voice from 
heaven, cr3ing : "Blessed art thou, O Rabbi 
Akiva, for thy soul and the word ONE left thy 
body together ! " 



216 Rahbi Yochanan hen Zachai, 



RABBI YOCHANAN BEN ZACHAI. 

There is in Heaven a certain living creature ivhich hath letters 
upon its forehead. And bi/ dai/ these letters, ivhich are brighter 
tJfan the sun, form the word TRUTH, ivherehy the angels know 
that it is dag. But ivhen evening cometh, the letters, self-changing, 
do shape themselves into the word FAITH, whereby the angels 
know that the night cometh. . . . 

Now Hillel the Great, who gathered together 
the Sedarhn of the Tahniid, and who was also the 
teacher of that Jesus the Gentiles worship, had 
eight}' other disciples who became hoi}' men. Of 
these, thirty were indeed so holy that tlie She- 
chinah rested upon them even as upon Moses, so 
that their faces gave out light ; and rays like 
beams of the sun streamed from their temples. 

And of thirty others it is said their holiness was 
as the holiness of Joshua, the son of Nun, being 
worthy that the sun should stand still at their 
behest. And the remaining twenty, of whom the 
greatest was Rabbi Jonathan ben Uzziel, and the 
least of all Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai, were 
held to be only of middling worth. Yet there is 
now not one worthy to compare with the least of 
them, seeing that Rabbi Yochanan was holier 
than living man to-day. 



Rahhi Yockanan hen Zachai. 217 

For, humble as be was, Rabbi Yochanan ben 
Zachai was deeply learned in the Scriptures, — in 
the Mishna and the Gemara and the Midrashini, 
— in the Kabbalah, the rules of Gematria, of 
Notricon, and of Temurah, — in the five m^'stic 
alphabets, Atbash, Atbach, Albam, Aiakbechar, 
Tashrak, — in legends and the lesser laws and 
the niceties, — in the theories of the moon, in the 
language of angels and the whispering of palm- 
trees and the speech of demons. And if all the 
seas were ink, and all the reeds that shake b}' 
rivers were pens, and all the men of the eartli 
were scribes, never could the}' write down all that 
Kabbi Yochanan ben Zachai had learned, nor 
even so much of it as he taught in his lifetime, 
which endured for the period of one hundred and 
twenty years. Yet he was the least of all the 
disciples of Ilillel. 

Of the 3-ears of his life the first fort}' he devoted 
to worldly things, especiall}' to commerce, that he 
might earn enough to enable him to devote unto 
good works the remainder of the time allotted 
him. And the next fort}' years he devoted to 
study, becoming so learned that he was indeed 
accused of being a magician, as were also those 
Rabbis who, by combination of tiie lettei's of the 
Name Inefiable, did create living animals and 



218 Bahhl Yochanan ben Zcichai, 

fruits, — as were also Kav Osha3'ah and Rav 
Chaiieanali, who bj^ study of the Book Yetzirah 
(which is the Book of Creation) did create for 
themselves a calf, and did eat thereof. 

And the last forty 3'ears of his most holy life 

Rabbi Yochanan gave to teaching the people. 

* 
* * 

Now, as it is related in the Book Bava Bathra, 
in Seder Nezikin of the Talmud, Rabbi Yochanan 
ben Zachai did upon one occasion explain before 
a vain disciple the words of the Prophet Isaiah. 
And so explaining he said: "The Most Holy — 
blessed be His name forever ! — shall take precious 
stones and pearls, each measuring thirtj" cubits 
by thirty cubits, and shall cut and polish them till 
they measure twenty cubits by ten cubits each, 
and shall set them in the gates of Jerusalem." 

Then the vain and foolish disciple, the son of 
Impudence, laughed loudl}', and with mockery in 
his voice said: '' What man hath ever seen an 
emerald or a diamond, a rub}" or a pearl, even so 
large as the egg of a small bird? and wilt thou 
indeed tell ns that there be jewels thirty cubits 
b}" thirty?" But Rabbi Yochanan returned no 
answer; and the disciple, mocking, departed. 

Now, some days after these tilings happened, 
that wicked disciple went upon a voyage ; for he 



Eabbi Yochanan ben Zachai, 219 

was ill commerce and a great driver of bargains, 
and known in man}' countries for his skill in bar- 
tering and his abilit}' in finding objects of price. 
Now, while in his vessel, when the sailors slum- 
bered, waiting to raise the anchor at dawn, it was 
given to that wicked disciple to see a great light 
below the waters. And looking down he saw 
might}' angels in the depths of the sea, quarrying 
monstrous diamonds and emeralds, and opening 
prodigious shells to obtain enormous pearls. And 
the eyes of the angels were fixed upon him, even 
as they worked below the water in that awful 
light. Then a dreadful fear came upon him, so 
that his knees smote one against another, and his 
teeth fell out ; and in obedience to a power that 
moved his tongue against his will, he cried aloud : 
" For what are those diamonds and those mighty 
emeralds ? For what are those monstrous pearls ? " 
And a Voice answered him from the deep, '' For 
the gates of Jerusalem ! " 

And having returned from his voj'age, the dis- 
ciple hastened with all speed to the place where 
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai was teaching, and 
told him that which he had seen, and vowed that 
the words of Rabbi Yochanan should nevermore 
be doubted by him. 

But the Rabbi, seeing into his heart, and be- 



220 A Tradition of Titus. 

holding the blackness of the wickedness within it, 
answered in a voice of thunder : " Raca ! hadst 
thou not seen them, tliou wouldst even now mock 
the words of the sages ! " And with a single 
glance of his e3'e he consumed that wicked dis- 
ciple as a dry leaf is consumed by flame, reducing 
the carcass of his body to a heap of smoking 
ashes as thougli it had been smitten b}' the light- 
ning of the Lord. 

And the people marvelled exceedingl}'. But 
Kabbi Yochanan ben Zachai, paying no heed to 
the white ashes smoking at his feet, continued to 
explain unto his disciples the language of palm- 
trees and of demons. 



A TRADITION OF TITUS. 

. . . TT7(/c>A is in the Booh Gittin of the Talmud. . . . Bp/ortt 
Titus the world ivas like nvto the eijehaU of man ; the ocean be- 
inrj as the ivhite, the world as the hhtck, the pupil thereof Jeru- 
S(ilem,and the image icilhin the pupil the Temple of the Lord. . . . 

Verily hath it been said, in ChuUin of the Holy 
8has, that " sixty iron mines are suspended in 
the sting of a gnat." 



A Tradition of Titus. 221 

For in those clays Titus — ma}' his ears be made 
into sockets for the lunges of Gehenna to turn 
upon! — came from Rome with his idokiters, and 
laid siege to the Holy CiU', and destroyed it, and 
bore away the virgins into captivity-. He who 
had not beheld Jerusalem before that daj' had not 
seen the gior}' of Israel. 

There were three hundred and ninety-four S3'na- 
gogues, and three hundred and ninety-four courts 
of law, and the same number of academies for the 
3'outh. . . . When the gates of the temple were 
opened, the roar of their golden hinges was heard 
at the distance of eight Sabbatli days' journe}'. . . . 
The Veil of the H0I3' of PloUes was woven hy 
eight3'-two myriads of virgins ; three hundred 
priests were needed to draw it, and tlu'ee hun- 
dred to lave it when soiled. But Titus — be his 
name accursed forever ! — wrapped up the sacred 
vessels in it, and, putting them in a ship, set sail 
for the city of Rome. . . . 

Scarcely had he departed beyond sight of the 
land when a great storm arose, — the deeps made 
visible their darkness, the waves showed their 
teeth ! And an exceeding great fear came upon 
the mariners, and the}' cried out, "It is the 
Elohim ! " 

But Titus, mocking, lifted his voice against 



222 A Tradition of Titus. 

Heaven, and the thunders, and the hghtnings, 
and the mutterings of the sea, exckiiming : " Lo ! 
this God of Jews hath no power save on water ! 
Pharaoh He drowned ; 8isera He drowned also ; 
even now He seeketh to drown me with m}' le- 
gions ! If He be might}-, and not afiaid to strive 
with me on land, let Him rather await me on 
solid earth, and there see whether He be strong 
enough to prevail against me." (Now Sisera, 
indeed, was not drowned ; but Titus, being igno- 
rant and an idolater, spake falsel}-.) 

Then burst forth a splendor of white lire from 
the darkness of the clouds ; and deeper than the 
thunder a Voice answered unto him: "O thou 
wicked one, son of a wicked man and grandson 
of Esau the wicked, go thou ashore ! Lo ! I 
have a creature awaiting thee, which is but little 
and insignificant in my world ; go thou and fight 
with it ! " 

And the tempest ceased. 

So Titus and his legions landed after many 
days upon the shore of the land called Itah% — 
the shore that vibrated forever to the sound of 
the might}' city of Rome, whereof the Voice was 
heard unto the four ends of the earth, and tlae din 
whereof deafened Eabbi Yehoshuah even at the 
distance of a hundred and twenty miles. For in 



A Tradition of Titus. 223 

Rome there were three hundred and sixty-five 
streets, and in each street three hundred and 
sixt3'-five pahices, and leading up to the pillared 
portico, of each palace a marble fliglit of three 
hundred and sixtj'-five steps. 

But no sooner had the Emperor Titus placed 
his foot ui)on the shore than there attacked him 
a gnat ! And the gnat flew up his nostrils, and 
entered into his wicked brain, and gnawed it, and 
tortured him with unspeakable torture. And he 
could obtain no cessation of his anguish ; neither 
was there ixwy p!i3'sician in Rome w^ho could do 
aught to relieve him. So the gnat abode in his 
brain for seven 3'ears, and the face of Titus became, 
for everlasting pain, as the face of a man in hell. 

Now, after Titus had vainly sacrificed unto all 
the obscene gods of the Romans, it came to pass 
that he heard one day, within a blacksmith's shop, 
the sound of the hammer descending upon the 
anvil ; and the sound was grateful to his ears as 
the harping of David unto the hearing of Saul, 
and the anguish prosentl}^ departed from him. 
Then, thinking unto himself, he exclaimed, " Lo ! 
I have found relief;" and having offered sacri- 
fices unto the Smith-god, he ordered the smith to 
be brought to his palace, together with anvils 



224 A Tradition of Titus. 

and hammers. And he paid the smith four zou- 
zim a day — as mone}' is reckoned in Israel — to 
hammer for him. 

But the smith could not hammer unceasingly ; 
and whenever he stopped the pain returned, and 
the gnat tormented exceeding!}'. So other smiths 
were sent for; and at last a Jewish smith, who 
was a slave. To him Titus would pay nothing, 
notwithstanding he had paid the Gentiles ; for he 
said, "It is enough payment for thee to behold 
th}' enem}" suffer ! " 

Yet tliirty days more ; and no sound of ham- 
mers could lessen tlie agony of the gnawing of 
the gnat, and Titus knew that he must die. 

Then he bade his family that the}' should burn 
his bod}' after he was dead, and collect the ashes, 
and send out seven ships to scatter the ashes 
upon the waves of the Seven Seas, lest the God 
of Israel should resurrect his body at the Daj' of 
Judgment. 

* * 

[But it is written in Midrash Kohelet, of the 
holy Midi-ashim, that Hadrian — may his name 
be blotted out ! — once asked Rabbi Joshua ben 
Chanania, " From what shall the body be recon- 
structed at the Last Day?" And the Rabbi an- 
swered, "From Luz in the backbone." When 



A Tradition of Titus, 225 

Hadrian demanded proof, the Rabbi took Luz, 
the Httle bone of the spine, and immersed it in 
water, and it was not softened. He put it into 
the fire, and it was not consumed. He put it 
into a mill, and it could not be ground. He ham- 
mered it upon an anvil ; but the hammer was 
broken, and the anvil split asunder. 

Therefore the desire of Titus shall not prevail ; 
and the Lord will surely recoustruct his bodv for 
punishment out of Luz in the backbone !] 

But before they burned the corpse of Titus they 
opened his skull and looked into his brain, that 
they might find the gnat. 

Now the gnat was as big as a swallow, and 
weighed two selas, as weight is reckoned in Israel. 
And they found that its claws were of brass, and 
the jaws of its mouth were of iron ! 




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